


A Tyrant's Kinktober

by Tyrant_Tortoise



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Against a Wall, Alternate Universe - Bittybones, Aphrodisiacs, Asphyxiation, Begging, Biker!Blueberry, Biting, Body Shots, Body Swap, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fell Underwater verse, Fontcest, HoneyKetchup, Kinktober, M/M, Master/Pet Play, Multi, Pirate!Sans, Roleplay, S3L3, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Skelelodge, Stockings, Threesome - F/M/M, VR Sex, broken promises and timelines alternate scene, but only in a couple of chapters, cross-dressing, gagging, honeymustard-reader-sandwich, machine fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyrant_Tortoise/pseuds/Tyrant_Tortoise
Summary: It's that magical time of the year again!  Let's get it on with the monsters of the Underground.Tags to update accordingly with chapters.  Pairings/timelines will be clearly marked at the beginning of each chapter.If you like what you read, why notcheck out my tumblrfor more Undertale writing/content?  I take requests.





	1. Aphrodisiacs (Edge/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Underfell  
>  **Timeline:** Underground  
>  **Pairing:** Underfell Papyrus (Edge) / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Has a vagina

"STAY OVER THERE!"

You flinch, hurt by the coarse growl that issued the command. You hadn't heard that tone directed at you in many months, not since you'd first been 'captured' by the "GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS" upon finding yourself in Snowdin. Since then, you'd managed to get the boisterous Captain of the Royal Guard to warm up to you--to the point that you would consider him your significant other. After all, you spent every night sleeping in the same bed ("FOR YOUR PROTECTION!"), cuddling on the couch while he finished his reports ("HM... YOU'RE SOFTER THAN I EXPECTED!"), and he had welcomed you into his family with a collar ("NO ONE WILL MESS WITH WHAT'S MINE!"). He was always gentle with you despite his scowling demeanor... and, of course, there was _that kiss._

Although it happened more than a week ago, you could still vividly remember the feeling of his fangs pressing into your lips and his hand tangled in your hair, urging your head back to deepen the kiss with a sense of urgency. The make-out session was the hottest one you'd ever experienced--although it ended far too prematurely, as soon as your hand began wandering up his shirt to ghost over his floating ribs. 

The hurt that you felt when he pulled back and told you to go to sleep comes rushing back. He hadn't initiated another kiss since then, but nothing had changed between the two of you. However, tonight he had gone to Undyne's house to train (as he usually did once a week), and he came home much later than usual. Instead of coming up to his room to fall asleep at his usual punctual time, Papyrus had stayed downstairs. You had waited, intently listening for the creak of the stairs, but when it never came, your curiosity got the better of you. His visage had been visible over the railing of the upstairs; he had been hunched over on the couch, cradling his skull in his hands, his form only lit by the dim light from the kitchen. Worry pitted in your gut, so you hurried down the stairs, but only made it halfway before he snapped at you with an undeserved harshness. 

Your breath hitched. Papyrus didn't look up, but his eyelights seemed to be glowing brighter than usual, casting a crimson hue across the exposed bones of his arms.

"What's wrong?" you manage, forcing your voice to remain steady. He doesn't reply, so you take a step down, then another. The next stair creaks, and Papyrus's head finally snaps up, magic flaring in his piercing gaze.

"DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP!" The ferocity in his voice startles you, and you grasp the rail of the stairs tight. Papyrus is leaning forward on the couch, his body taunt, and his gloved hands gripping the bottom of the cushion. "GO BACK TO BED."

"You're... not coming to bed?" you voice, your heart hammering in your chest. Something seems off, and Papyrus grits his teeth as he gives a sharp shake of his head. Despite his orders, you remain rooted to the spot in confusion. It's not like him to seem this curt and angry toward you. "Did something happen at Undyne's?" Instead of retreating, you take another step toward him. 

The upholstery on the cushion rips. 

"Are you okay, Papyrus?"

Your legs feel numb as you take the last two steps down and reach the living room. In the next moment, Papyrus has risen to his full height and stomped across the room in several quick strides. He slams a hand against the wall beside your head, causing you to flinch. 

"IF YOU DON'T GO TO BED AND LOCK THE DOOR RIGHT NOW, YOU WON'T BE!"

You've never seen him wearing such an intense stare before, the sharp angles of his cheekbones catching the bright luminosity of his eyelights. They're dilated more than usual, almost filling his usually-darkened sockets. Despite his sudden proximity, he's leaned away from you, as if he doesn't want any part of him to touch you.

Rejection wells in your chest. Did he suddenly grow tired of you? Did the intrigue of being with a human wear off after he kissed you? Does he not even want to see your face anymore?

Your eyes feel hot, and you blink back the sudden moisture that's building. Though your vision blurs, you still make out the shift in his expression, and you hear the tips of his phalanges digging into the wood through his gloves.

"Did I do something wrong?" Oh, you hate the pathetic waver to your voice, that weakness that you try to keep stamped down. You should be shouting back at him, insisting that he doesn't have to yell in your face, but your chest feels too tight for you to give into righteous anger. 

Papyrus breathes in sharply through his nasal cavity, and then slowly releases it. "I AM TRYING TO PROTECT YOU." Each word is carefully measured and spit out. "BUT YOU ARE MAKING IT QUITE DIFFICULT!"

You stare, the pang in your chest ebbing slightly. "Protect me from what?" He doesn't respond right away, so you reach out toward his cheek, only to have him jerk his head away. You actually scoff. "How does avoiding me protect me?"

"BECAUSE I'M PROTECTING YOU FROM _ME_ , YOU FOOL!" he snaps, and when your hand continues to dangle uselessly between the two of you, he snags your wrist with his free hand and jerks you toward him. "I SHOULDN'T EVEN BE HERE RIGHT NOW, BUT UNFORTUNATELY, SANS IS OFF SOMEWHERE, DRUNKENLY GALLIVANTING, WHICH MEANS I HAVE TO BE HERE! SOME MONSTER COULD COME SNOOPING AROUND IF THEY REALIZE THE HOUSE IS SUPPOSEDLY EMPTY, AND I CAN'T LET THEM FIND YOU!"

You're taken back by his admission, though your mind is reeling, still hung up on the first sentence. "Why would you ever need to protect me from you?" 

His hand moves from the wall, to tangle around the tendrils of hair at the base of your neck. "I KNOW YOU'RE NOT THIS DENSE!"

Oh, but you are. You're simultaneously confused and turned on from the way he's holding onto you. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, and his gaze is drawn to the motion. "Spell it out to me."

A growl builds in his throat again, and his hand moves from your arm to the curve of your hip. Sharply, he pulls you flush with his pelvis and grinds his tight pants against your pajamas. 

There's a definite bulge there, and it's hot enough that you can feel the heat seeping through the fabric. You suck in a sharp breath, your gaze searching his as he holds yours.

"So... you're horny?" you manage after a long stretch of heavy silence, and Papyrus actually seems flustered by the query. 

"THAT'S A VULGAR WAY OF PUTTING IT, BUT YES. I DRANK SOMETHING AT UNDYNE'S THAT I SHOULDN'T HAVE... SOMETHING ALPHYS HAD MADE FOR HER. ESSENTIALLY, IT PUT MY MAGIC INTO OVERDRIVE."

You're finally beginning to understand. "You drank some sort of aphrodisiac?"

"LOVE POTION, SHE SAID. IT HAD BEEN REPLICATED FROM AN EPISODE OF SOME SILLY CHILDREN'S CARTOON."

"Okay, _that._ And now you want me to go upstairs so we don't have sex?"

"EXACTLY!" He seems torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer. So, he does neither and keeps you pressed in line with the bulge in his pants. "SO GO AWAY BEFORE I END UP HURTING YOU, HUMAN!"

You're unsure if you should feel rejected that he doesn't want to be intimate with you, or assuaged by the fact that he's worried he'll hurt you. Either way, you don't heed his advice. Instead, you decide to test his intentions by reaching down and snagging his belt loop with a crooked finger to keep his pelvis in-place while you grind your hips into his. His teeth part slightly, and his fingers pull your hair, the slight pain only making you more aroused by the position.

"Is that... why you pulled away when we kissed? Because you thought you'd hurt me?" The words are tumbling past your lips before you can sensor them; you've been wanting him to clarify the situation since that night, but you kept losing your nerve. Tonight seems like a decent night to roll the dice, however, so you press, "Or was it because you didn't want a human?"

Papyrus's eyesockets narrow, and he huffs in exasperation. "ASGORE'S BEARD, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, DO YOU? YOU DON'T REALIZE HOW MUCH I HAVE TO CONTROL MYSELF AROUND YOU?" He leans in, the warm of his breath fanning across your lips. Your eyes become half-lidded, and your back hits the wall when he grinds his pelvis into yours, hard. "HOW MUCH I WANTED TO JUST FUCK YOU UNTIL THE SPRINGS BROKE ON THE MATTRESS THAT NIGHT?"

You gasp as he thrusts against you, fairly certain you're so turned on that there's a damp spot on your pajama pants now. Your free hand grasps the spiked pauldron covering his shoulder in an effort to find balance, while Papyrus tilts your head back and brings his mouth directly beside your ear. "I HAVE BEEN CAREFULLY KEEPING MYSELF IN CHECK, AND IT'S NOT AN EASY FEAT. STARS KNOW YOU MAKE ME SHOUT MY FRUSTRATIONS AWAY IN THE FOREST! YOU'RE SO MUCH WEAKER THAN ME... I COULD ACCIDENTALLY SNAP YOU IN TWO!" As he growls the words, you can feel the sharp points of his teeth graze your earlobe, and you're unable to censor the salacious, shuddering moan that follows. "AND NOW YOU REFUSE TO LISTEN TO ME, WHEN MY CONTROL IS BARELY HANGING ON BY A THREAD? WHEN I WANT NOTHING MORE THAN TO RUT YOU INTO SUBMISSION RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW?"

His body's trembling, you suddenly realize, his ribs rattling together. He seems to legitimately be worried about hurting you, about not being able to rein in his strength during the throes of passion. 

Your legs are trembling, too, but not from trepidation. 

No, it's from pressing your thighs together tight in anticipation of what's to come.

If the only thing standing between you and the night of your life with the skeleton you've come to love is the fact that he doesn't think you can handle the ride, then you're going to prove him wrong.

Determined, you suddenly wedge your fingers between your hips (where he was still dry humping your pelvis, trying to use the friction as a reprieve from the building ache) and palm the length of his bulge, squeezing it through his pants. Papyrus groans, his eyelights flashing brighter in the darkness, and his fangs press into your neck above your collar. You take your time dragging the heel of your palm against the entirety of his erection, and although the size is admittedly a bit daunting, you can't help but wonder what it'd feel like, hilted inside you and filling you up completely. 

His voice comes out in a hiss, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

With a soft smirk, you respond, "Helping you. You're wound up." Still stroking him through his pants, you fumble with his belt with the opposite hand. He draws in a breath, possibly to protest that you're not helping, but when you squeeze the bulbous head of his concentrated magic, he releases it in a loud groan. His arm slides around the your waist, hand pressing into the small of your back, drawing your body even closer in line with his. It makes it difficult to work the buckle of the belt, but you manage to get it undone and quickly move on to the buttons of his pants. 

"YOU... YOU ARE NOT.... L-LISTENING," Papyrus manages between hissing breaths and sharp gasps. You've never heard him this rattled, never once dreamed of drawing a stutter from someone so self-assured who always possesses such a fierce concentration. You're shattering it just like you're severing the last thread of his control. 

"I am," you insist, a triumphant smile curving your lips once you drag his zipper down. "Sounds like you want me, but you don't think I can handle it." All of the fear of rejection has melted away, replaced instead by the desire to disabuse him of his misconceptions about you. At the same time your fingers slip down the front of his trousers, skimming the rim of his pelvic girdle and heading toward the heat of his coalescing magic, you tilt your head and press you lips to his neck. "But you're wrong. I can handle whatever you can dish out, Papyrus."

His voice becomes a strangled growl--something primal that ignites a pang of longing directly between your thighs. "YOU... YOU..." 

You proceed to wreck his train of thought when your fingers curl around the base of his magical shaft, and you're surprised at the tingle you feel against your skin. The magic is concentrated and hotter than you expected, and when you lift it up to free it from the confines of his tight jeans, you can see it illuminating your arm with its crimson glow. Your palm runs along the length with a deliberate slowness, testing to feel the similarities between his magic and a human cock. His is thicker than anticipated, tapering to a bulbous head, just like a human's. However, you feel several rounded protrusions along the underside of his shaft that have you flicking your thumb over them curiously. Unable to figure out what they are, you pull your lips away from his cervical vertebrae long enough to spare a glance down to his impressive member. 

Your eyes widen in surprise.

They're golden studs. His dick is studded, the magic somehow pierced. You're not certain about the linguistics of that (magical piercings? or is he able to conjure them at will as a style choice?), and although your curiosity is piqued, there's another burning question on your mind.

How amazing will those feel, rubbing against you from the inside?

When you glance back up, you find Papyrus watching you with his usual intensity, only he's released his iron grip on your hair to press his palm against the wall, bracing himself as your hand pumps along his shaft. You mirror his heated gaze, and your free hand cradles his jaw, a finger tracing the crack just beneath his orbit. 

"I want you, Papyrus. And I don't want you to hold back."

He swears under his breath, the words mostly an incoherent growl. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU DO TO ME," he finally claims... moments before his mouth crashes against yours. 

His kiss is sharp and urgent, fangs probing your bottom lip while his tongue eagerly slips past your mouth, drinking you in. Your hand pumps faster at his cock, and he thrusts into your palm while simultaneously pinning you against the wall. He slings his gloves into the floor and hastily shoves your pajamas pants down your hips. The fabric pools against your ankles, leaving your heated skin suddenly chilled. You're not wearing underwear--it's nearly impossible to find Underground--so there's nothing in the way of his fingers when he finally cups your heat.

The ridges of his phalanges feel exquisite sliding through your slick folds; at this point, you're practically dripping with anticipation. You feel his shaft pulse in your hand, and a growl vibrates against your lips at the discovery. You gasp into his mouth, and he breaks the kiss long enough for a satisfied smirk to curve his fangs. "YOU REALLY _DO_ WANT ME TO FUCK YOU SENSELESS, DON'T YOU?" His finger slips inside you, finding no resistance. He curves it as he slides within you, hitting just the right spot to drag a rather loud moan from you. When a second finger joins the first, your knees start to buckle. He grinds the metacarpal of his thumb against your swollen clit, and you end up shoving a hand up his shirt to grasp his ribs and steady yourself. 

In the next moment, Papyrus withdraws his hand (earning a needy, desperate whine from you; geez, you didn't think you were capable of those sounds) and grasps your thighs, lifting you up and pinning your back against the wall. Your legs drape over the crests of his hips, and he yanks your hand away from his throbbing cock to press it against the wall, beside your head. As he lines himself up with your entrance, he presses his forehead to yours, finding your gaze now as glazed-over as his. 

"I'M GOING TO BREAK YOU. YOU SHOULD'VE WENT BACK UPSTAIRS WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE." It sounds like a warning, but you both know there's no going back now. 

"Just fuck me, Papyrus."

He swears again, louder this time, and then abruptly thrusts forward. There's no slow press to allow you time to stretch and accommodate his girth; no, he's following your instructions to not hold back. He's hilted as far as he can press in that single thrust, and you're left gasping in a mix of pleasure and pain. His phalanges dig into your hips with a bruising grip as he starts thrusting with a sloppy, urgent pace that you never expected from someone as calculated and measured as him. After a few strokes, the pain finally starts to ebb more toward pleasure, and you experimentally rock your hips back into his. 

Papyrus is rough, fast and hard, groaning and growling beneath his breath with each thrust. He kisses you again, his tongue mimicking the erratic pace his hips have set while he drinks in your wanton moans. You feel drunk off his lust, and every time your fingers tighten on his rib, it seems to throw off his pace. A shallow thrust, then a deep thrust, two more shallow, then a circular grinding motion. There's no rhythm, but you desperately try to meet every thrust, even as your back smacks against the wall--and occasionally your head, too. 

With each thrust, you can feel those protruding studs drag along your walls, providing a unique friction that leaves you craving more. He can reach deeper than anything ever has, and the slight curve to his shaft has your climax quickly building. Papyrus seems to realize from your shuddering breaths and high-pitched gasping moans that you're well on your way to one hell of an orgasm, so he reaches between your joined bodies and slicks his thumb across your throbbing nub. Within moments, the coil building in your lower abdomen tightens to the point that it snaps, and you ride out the wave of your orgasm by grabbing the back of his neck to keep his head in place while you suck and bite his tongue. 

His pace slows, becoming languid enough to work you through the orgasm. You expected that to be enough to throw him over the edge, but you don't feel the throb of his own climax, or the heat that would surely accompany it. Instead, he sets you down on wobbly, unsteady legs (your thighs are chaffed to hell and back, you realize now that you don't have the pleasure overtaking the pain), and pulls out. Immediately, you feel empty-- _too_ empty after enjoying the way he made you feel more full than you'd ever experienced--but his dick is just as hard as ever, standing at full attention. 

"You... you didn't...?" You can barely get the query out between gasping breaths, and if it wasn't for his arms supporting your waist, you're certain you'd be in a puddle on the ground right now. 

He understands what you're asking, and his expression almost looks pained. "NO. NOT YET. THE DRINK SEEMS TO HAVE STRONG EFFECTS..." He grips your arms and urges you forward, toward the stairs. However, instead of leading you to the bedroom, he presses you down onto your hands and knees on the staircase and then positions himself behind you. One hand grips your ass and then slides lower, his knee spreading your thighs apart as he lines up with your entrance once more. 

The other hand grips the back of the collar around your neck and pulls your head back. He leans over your body, his fangs grazing the shell of your ear. "I TRIED TO PROTECT YOU, BUT YOU INSISTED YOU CAN HANDLE WHATEVER I CAN DISH OUT. DO YOU STAND BY THAT, HUMAN?"

As sore as you are, you're nowhere near ready to call it quits. It's a combination of still being incredibly aroused and rising to the challenge in his tone. 

"Yes. Give me everything you've got, Captain."

You can feel him smirk against your neck; you know he loves being addressed by his rank.

"WITH PLEASURE."

And then he plunges back into you, and you lose yourself to the feeling of his studded dick rubbing within you and his fangs sinking into the back of your shoulder. 

You have a long, glorious night ahead of you.


	2. Dirty Talk (Rus/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Swapfell  
>  **Timeline:** Surface; Post-Pacifist  
>  **Pairing:** Swapfell Papyrus (Rus) / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Ambiguous genitalia 
> 
> * The Swapfell Paps version of the [Lonely Dialer Imagine](https://tyranttortoise.tumblr.com/post/160569713933/i-have-an-idea-for-a-sweetsad-prompt-reader-is-a)

You're a self-proclaimed "lonely dialer." There are times when you're home alone late at night that you begin to crave some form of contact, something to keep the walls from feeling as if they're pressing down on you from all sides. So, you call random numbers and see if you can strike up a conversation with a stranger. Sometimes, you do it after a few drinks. Sometimes, you end up getting chewed out for calling and end up feeling worse than before. Sometimes, you get trolled and end up exchanging jokes back and forth, and you feel better. 

Sometimes, you even get to admit your secrets and insecurities to the disembodied voice on the other end and lighten the heaviness pitted in your chest.

This, however, is not one of any of those times. This--and the fact that you're going along with it--is completely unexpected.

It started off normal enough. When the person answered the phone, his voice was gruff and thick as he grunted into the receiver in lieu of a proper greeting. You might have woken him up, you realized, and immediately felt guilty. 

"Sorry. Did I wake you?"

There's a pause on the other side of the line, and for a moment, you think he's hung up the phone. Just as you're about to apologize again and quickly hang up, that deep voice murmurs, "who's this?"

"No one special," you reply with a slight shrug that shifts the phone against your cheek. 

"heh, doesn't sound like it to me."

Curious, you press, "What does it sound like?"

He lightly chuckles. "welp, seein' as you decided to wake me up..." There's a rustling sound, like he's sitting up in his bed. "sounds like ya jus' came from my dreams." 

You feel your face flush, even as you half-scoff, half-laugh. That pick up line was definitely cheesy, but when he says it... _damn_ if it doesn't stir something inside of you. 

"Maybe I did," you hedge, trying to play along. You really just want to hear more of his voice, raspy with sleep, using lines on you again. 

He chuckles again, and you can hear him shifting on the other side, perhaps sitting up or repositioning his pillow. You're trying to picture a face to go with the voice, but it's difficult. 

"if ya knew what kinda dreams i'd jus' been havin', you wouldn't say that, darlin'."

Had he been having a nightmare, or...? Your mind happens to be in the gutter, so you can't help but query, "Oh? What kind of dream did I wake you from?" There's a sultry tone to your voice that you can't seem to keep out now, the question coming out flirtatious. The man is silent on the other end for a moment, before you hear the click of a lighter. So the guy's a smoker... does that have anything to do with the raspy quality to his voice? Somehow, you doubt it; it's more of an attractive, low growl than anything else.

You hear him exhale and imagine a shadowed man with smoke curling around his head, adding to the intrigue. "well let's jus' say that if i was still dreamin', and you were in it... you'd be on my bed with me, without a stitch of clothin' on ya... 'cept maybe my jacket. somethin' hot about that."

Now it's your turn to be quiet for a moment, processing the mental image of yourself sprawled out naked on a stranger's bed... and then the idea of you with just his jacket on, unzipped to leave your body on display for him. Usually, these kind of perversions from a complete stranger would turn you off, unwilling to feed someone's cheap fantasy.

However, this was a different case.

This was someone that didn't know you. Neither of you had any idea what each other looked like. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't aroused by the picture he had painted.

He seems to interpret your silence as unease, and his tone has a bit of forced cheer in it when he says, "see? told ya you wouldn't wanna be in it."

"What if I do, though?" you blurt, feeling your face grow even hotter. "What if I want to be in that bed, lying next to you... in only your jacket?"

"heh, darlin', i--"

"And of course, I'd want you to be naked, too. I'd want to reach out and touch you, to feel what the sight of my body did to you."

It feels like you're disconnected from your body, since you're speaking in a rush before you have a chance to second-guess yourself. You've decided you have nothing to lose from continuing with this fantasy, from indulging in something that turns you on this much. If he doesn't like it, he'll hang up--or vice-versa. You were sure to block your number from showing up on his phone, so you hold all the cards right now; there's no way for him to track you or harass you. It's just something for fun. 

He sucks in a sharp breath at your words, and when he speaks, there's a tightness to his carefree voice that wasn't there before. "damn, darlin'. ya really know how to make me rock hard." You can hear him shifting again, the covers probably moving against his legs. "ok, take off your pants for me."

You blink, even though he can't see your blank stare. Your sexy act momentarily breaks. "Uh... really take them off?" 

He chuckles again. "thought ya said you wanted to make that dream a reality, hun. take 'em off and let me touch ya."

You finally pick up what he's throwing at your face and wiggle out of your pants, kicking them down to your ankles. This is definitely a first in all your time as a lonely dialer, but you're more than willing to take it beyond just mere sexy talk. "You have to let me touch you, too," you instruct, and you can hear the grin in his tone when he replies.

"'course. i'm ready for ya to lend me a _hand_. are ya gonna start off slow or just get straight to the point?"

"Mmm, what's the rush? I want to start off slow, take my time exploring you." 

His breathing hitches. "ah... slow 'n easy, that's nice. i'm the same way. i'm not in any hurry. i'll touch you gently... maybe even too gently. i wanna tease ya until your hips are buckin' up, tryin' to get more."

You close your eyes and concentrate, your hand moving between your legs in the way he describes. The touch is much too gentle for your normal masturbation--admittedly, you _do_ like to get straight to the point, but you're usually blowing off steam out of boredom, pent-up frustrations, or for the climax to ease a building headache. Now, you're not chasing your release, but letting his voice work its magic. You start squirming in no time.

"Well, I'd get a... a firmer grip on your cock and squeeze it, hoping you'd get the hint," you admit, drawing a breathy chuckle from him.

"mmm, it's nice, but if ya want somethin' from me, you're gonna have to ask nicely."

Your face feels like it's on fire. "....Please."

"gotta do better than that, darlin'," he teases, his lustful voice making you want to just say screw it and touch yourself however you want because _damn_ , you're already so worked up. 

"What's your name?" 

You catch him off-guard. "hmm? what?"

"What do I call you?"

The phone scrapes something, and you feel like he's shrugged. "you can call me rus."

"Okay then." You voice drops lower, and you continue, "Please, Rus. I need you to touch me. I _need_ to feel you. I want it harder, faster--I want _more_ of you."

He grunts into the receiver. "shit. how can i say no to _that_? ok, i'll touch ya harder, faster, w-whatever you like. mm, i still want ya so riled up that...haaa.... that your hips keep rising off the bed, and you're gaspin' my name."

You do as instructed without even thinking about it, quickening your pace. "Ahhh, Rus... Rus, that feels so good."

He releases a breath through his teeth, swearing softly.

"I'll grip your cock harder, faster... paying special attention to the head. I'll match your pace and follow your lead so we can cum together."

You've never been this lewd, but you're not even embarrassed any longer. No, instead you're chasing the climax together, imagining his hand on your body, his mouth directly by your ear, panting and grunting and smelling faintly of smoke. The dirty talk quiets for a moment, replaced instead by the sounds of your mutual moans, gasps, and groans--and whispered curses into the night. 

You're practically bucking off the mattress at this point, so consumed by the fantasy.

Then, he murmurs in a low growl, "cum for me, darlin'. i want to hear it." 

And that's enough to send you that last bit over the edge of the precipice and into a shuddering climax. You're louder than usual, unabashed, and don't even attempt to quiet your moans. You want him to hear, you want them to drive him wild and make him cum with you. His name slips past your lips, riding on a shuddering sigh.

"fuck," he rasps, followed by heavy panting. You're spent on your bed, languidly lying on your back while you come down from your climax and feel your racing heart thudding in your chest. He's also trying to catch his breath, and finally, he manages, "that was hot. ya sure i'm not still dreamin'?"

"Maybe you are," you tease with a smile he can't see. He chuckles.

"wouldn't surprise me. either way, i'm gonna have to wash my sheets."

A few more moments pass, and now that your eyes are closed, you're starting to drift off with your pants still around your ankles. His voice brings you back from the edge, "darlin'?"

"Mmhmm?" 

"i'm glad ya called. and if you wanna call again, feel free ok?"

Needless to say, you take him up on that offer.


	3. Biting (Red/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Underfell  
>  **Timeline:** Surface; post-pacifist  
>  **Pairing:** Underfell Sans (Red) / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Has a vagina

You were faking it, and Sans could tell.

His brow furrowed as he watched you pretend to orgasm in the middle of heavy foreplay. Both of you were stripped bare--well, _you_ were, but Sans just has his sweater pushed up and his shorts sagged halfway down his femurs. He was even still wearing his socks and collar. You, on the other hand, he had unwrapped as carefully as a present, wanting to savor the image of what was beneath your clothes. It was your first time being intimate together, and while he was no stranger to humans, you'd admitted it was your first time with a monster. He wanted to take it slow, to not scare you off.

So when you started making a big show of rocking your hips hard against his hand and moaning loudly, gasping and tightening your grip on his sleeve, he didn't believe you for a moment. 

The pumping of his two phalanges speared inside you ceased, and he met your half-lidded gaze with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyelights. "did'ja cum for me, sweetheart?" he drawled, carefully watching your expression.

Your face was flushed as you nodded, and his mouth twitched as he fought a scowl. With a dark chuckle, he leaned in close to nuzzle his sharp teeth against your neck. Your hand was already reaching for the concentrated magic of his shaft--he had swatted your hand away earlier, telling you to focus on what he was doing instead and touch him afterward--when he lifted his mouth to your ear and whispered, "liar."

You froze as he simultaneously curled his fingers inside you, hitting just the right spot and causing your hips to jerk in surprise. His fingertips seemed to crackle with static momentarily, and the electric feeling spread through from your core to your spine, drawing a languid moan past your lips. It felt so much better than the simple fingering he had been doing as you made out with him--although you had been more focused on the feeling of his magic crackling in your mouth, tinged with the flavor of smoky mustard. 

"What?" you murmur, coming back to your senses when the feeling dies down. 

"you didn't cum," he clarifies. "ya faked it. why? is _this_ \--" He punctuates the word with another magical spark to his phalanges, causing you to buck off his mattress and gasp. "--not doing it for ya?"

When he pulls back, his smirk is more genuine. You suppose it's since he's finally drawn a real reaction from you. However, you flush with mortification from being caught, your fingertips clenching into his sweater. Is he pissed? You can't really tell from his hooded expression.

"N-no, it is. It's just..." Sans is making it difficult to concentrate with the way he keeps moving his fingers. Apparently, he's enjoying the sounds he's able to draw from you because he rocks his hips against the crest of your hip, and you feel the solidness of his glowing red member press against you, the golden ring piercing the head digging into your skin. 

Your experiences with intimacy haven't been the best. If you take too long to climax, more pressure is put on you ( _"Come on, I'm getting tired." "Can you even feel that?" "Do you really want this?" "Does it feel good? What about this?" "Is something wrong with you?"_ ), which in turn makes you lose your concentration. As it is, intimacy rarely feels good to you. You can get yourself off with ease, but when someone else is trying to push your buttons, you usually end up losing concentration or taking too long for their liking.

Red had been touching you for a while, and he'd claimed early on that he wanted to make you come undone before he let you stroke him. So, you had decided it was time to move on from you, to fake an orgasm so you could touch him. As nice as it was to lie in his bed and make out, you wanted more than just heavy petting. You wanted him.

"it's just?" Sans presses, while you worry your bottom lip, unsure how to phrase it. You decide to answer with sincerity.

"I wanted to make you feel good, and it usually takes me a long time to get off... _if_ I get off... So, it was just easier this way?" Your voice rises into a query at the end, your smile lop-sided and apologetic. Sans blinks, seemingly unprepared for that answer. 

"wait a sec. this is somethin' you're used ta doin'?"

Meekly, you nod, your confidence dwindling. "Yeah... it's, uh... less pressure this way?"

He stares at you a moment more, his brow furrowed. Slowly, he shakes his head. "sounds like you've been with some pathetic partners, if ya ask me." His fingers scissor inside you and slowly twist, resuming a slow pump. "don't worry, doll. i'll make ya cum--and i'll make ya cum hard, right on my dick."

There's something about the vulgarity of that sentence that makes the next pump of his fingers feel even better, your body already tightening in anticipation. 

While his fingers continue their ministrations, he dips his head lower, his teeth grazing your collarbone. The slight pleasure-pain aspect of his fangs has you raising your hips to meet his hand, and Sans smirks against your damp flesh. 

"that's right, sweetheart. ride my hand."

His assurances with that deep, gravely tone to his voice turn you on even more. You're actually starting to reach the point where everything feels good. Maybe he's helping you to concentrate--or perhaps he just has the literal _magic touch._

His tongue drags across your nipple, and you gasp, arching off the mattress. He circles the pert bud with that manifested magic, and it leaves your skin tingling and almost numb. His teeth close over it, lightly nipping, but careful not to puncture your sensitive skin. 

You rock harder against his hand, taking his fingers deeper inside you. 

Sans continues moving further down, his arm bending against your thigh and forcing your legs wider apart. You can feel the heat of his breath fanning against your core, and you want nothing more than to grind yourself against his mouth, to ride his face in place of his hand. You get the feeling that he knows what you want, too, by the way he keeps his mouth just out of reach, deliberately breathing on your drenched folds while lazily watching his fingers hilt themselves to the most proximal knuckle. 

"Sans..." you whimper, and he chuckles, puffs of his breath hitting your clit directly. You're tempted to just wrap your legs around his head, and it seems as if Sans felt your thigh tense; he puts his free hand on it, keeping it still. 

"nuh uh uh," he chides, a sing-song quality to his baritone rumble. "you lemme do all the work, doll. jus' lie there an' relax, ok?"

You whine in the back of your throat and let your head hit the pillow, refusing to make eye contact with him while he's wearing such an amused grin. With another light chuckle, Sans presses his face into your inner thigh... and then nips your flesh. It starts off light, the points of his fangs providing just enough pain to amplify your pleasure, making you gasp with delight. However, as his pace increased with his hand, so did the pressure of the bites. None of them were hard enough to break the skin, but you were certain you were going to end up with teeth marks--or at the very least, bruises.

Suddenly, he withdrew his hand, making you groan with disappointment. A second later, however, he replaced his phalanges with his tongue, letting it snake inside you and swirl around, lapping up your taste. You grasp his arms, your fingers bunching in his sleeves, desperately trying to find a purchase while your world spun from the sparking magic reaching every inch of you. He pulled it back out, lapping it through your slick folds, his fangs grazing the nub of your clit during his exploration. 

Your knees clenched around the sides of his head. This was it. Just a little more, and you were going to...!

And then abruptly sits up, and you almost shout _Are you kidding me?_ Instead, you make a strangled sound of outrage in the back of your throat, something you never thought yourself capable of making. Sans smirks, languorously running his tongue along his teeth to savor the taste of your juices. His saliva is red-tinted, glittering off his fangs and dribbling down his chin. 

That, coupled with the confident smirk, is an incredibly sexy look on him.

"I was so close..." you murmur instead, trying to convey to him that he'd gone back on his deal. He simply shrugs and rises to his knees, his congealed magic springing to view from his symphysis pubis. The girthy red dick was as hard as ever, standing at full attention even without the handjob you'd wanted to give him. There were two golden studs on either side of his cock, with the pierced ring protruding from the top. 

It looked slick, as if the sight of you writhing beneath him had been enough for his precum to gather and dribble down the shaft. He began lining himself up with you, leaning his body over yours. 

"i know, but i couldn't have ya cum. not yet." You must look confused because he presses the head of his dick against your entrance and just barely slips it in. "remember? i told ya i was gonna make you cum hard on my dick. and that's what's about to happen, sweetheart."

You're ready. You're _so ready_. He begins slowly pressing in, giving you the chance to accommodate to his girth. Despite the fact that your drenched with both your arousal and his magic, it's still a tight fit. 

However, his length feels even better than his tongue, the magic even more concentrated there. The feeling is electrifying, and after he's hilted, he starts a slow pace that picks up speed with your every moan. Sans shifts his hips, and his shaft rubs against your clit, the magic making you gasp and clutch onto him. You want your lips on his body; you want to show him the _great time_ he's shown you. So, you grasp his collar with one hand and yank him toward you, then pull it away from the side of his neck. Your mouth latches onto one of his vertebrae, and you bite down, scraping your teeth against the bone.

He swears loudly, his thrusts becoming erratic, more urgent. You can feel every piercing of his ecto-cock dragging along your inner walls, bringing your nerves to life. It's incredible; you don't have to force yourself to concentrate because there's _no way in hell_ you can think about anything else but what he's doing to you right now and how amazing it feels. 

While you're drowning in ecstasy, Sans lowers his hand to your shoulder and sinks his teeth in--just as you cum harder than you ever have before, shouting his name and clinging desperately to his back as your entire body tenses up. While your body clenches around his cock, throwing him over the edge as well, you barely even notice the pop of your skin breaking around his sharp teeth, or the way he numbs the wound with his tongue. 

It isn't a mating mark, no. It's much too soon for that. But it's a mark of intent--one that screams _Sans was here; touch them and die._

When he pulls back and sees the mark on your shoulder, close enough to the juncture of your shoulder that you'll have to wear a scarf or turtleneck to conceal it, Sans's smirk widens. 

He kisses you, and you can taste your own arousal and a tinge of blood on top of his usual flavor.

Sans has an insane amount of stamina. You barely have a chance to come down from your high before he's flipping you over for round two. 

By the end of the night, you're covered in little love bites, and both of you are so delectably satiated. He's risen to the challenge and made it clear that as long as you're with him, you'll never have to fake another orgasm again.


	4. Begging (Papyrus/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Undertale  
>  **Timeline:** Surface; post-pacifist  
>  **Pairing:** Papyrus / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Has a vagina

When you first started dating Papyrus, you expected that you would have to guide him through the steps of intimacy. He consulted a dating guidebook during your first date, and seemed to misread cues with his overzealous nature. You had to admit, you really _did_ enjoy getting a glimpse at his 'secret style', however. MTT Brand basketball muscles and a Cool Dude shirt endeared him into your heart enough to try a second date. 

You made him leave the dating guide at home.

The fact that he was so new to the dating scene didn't give you much hope that intimacy would be an easy feat--especially considering the species difference between the two of you. Kissing had been awkward enough at first; the feeling of his teeth against your lips was alien, and although the first few times he used a _MUAH_ sound effect to break the kiss was sweet, you eventually grew tired of it and had to gently tell him to shhhh and just kiss you. 

At the time, you had wondered if he even possessed something to bone you with. Was he even capable of taking you all the way to the bone zone? 

And you discovered that answer several months into dating, when you ended up stark naked on Papyrus's racecar bed with your wrists knotted in his trademark scarf and secured above your head by the headboard. Needless to say, your heavy make-out session had escalated quickly. Your bonefriend had shed his modified T-shirt ( ** ~~BORN~~ BONE TO BE WILD** ), exposing all of his lean ribcage. He was still wearing his hot pants and boots, but he'd taken off his gloves with his teeth and dropped them off the edge of the bed. 

Then, he had settled between your thighs, your legs draped over his shoulders, and most of his lower torso hanging off the bed so his face could be level with your delectable mound. He seemed to study you for a moment, and you felt your face flush as bright as the scarf binding your arms. His fingers lightly prodded you, spreading your outer lips, sliding along the inside to find the source of the wetness that left them so slick. You felt so exposed, so vulnerable...

So aroused.

It was the first time you had ever taken your pants off in front of him. The most you had done before was grind your crotch against his femur while both of you were still wearing pants. 

Now, he's uncharacteristically quiet as he studies you, taking his sweet time running his coarse fingers along your slit and studiously taking note whenever your hips jerk when his fingertip encircles your throbbing clit. He finally makes a sound of acknowledgement and moves his exploration lower, to your entrance. The tip of his phalange just barely slides inside and crooks up, leaving you bucking your hips toward him in an effort to draw him deeper. 

Smoothly, Papyrus pulls his hand back enough to compensate and avoid you, and then pins you down with his free hand against the curve of your hip. 

" _Please_ , Papyrus," you whine, the words riding out on an exasperated sigh. You're so wound up from his gentle caresses, from the fact that your lover--albeit confident, yet inexperienced--is pressing all your buttons like a pro, without you having to instruct him on what to do. When you had first pressed him on the matter (when he carefully unwound his scarf from his neck with a devious glint in his eyesocket and asked you to hold out your arms), he had just grinned and proudly claimed he'd done some 'research.'

You _really_ hoped that research simply involved nights of endless porn instead of purchasing prostitutes. 

"PLEASE WHAT?" he inquires without glancing up, his finger now withdrawn to just trace the outline of your opening instead of plunging in deep like you want. 

"Please... stick it inside me," you clarify, trying to keep your voice steady despite the face that your face feels as if it's on fire. 

Papyrus doesn't miss a beat, but you can see the smile on his face. "INSIDE WHERE?"

You balk. "You know where!"

His smile grows, shifting into something more mischievous. "I DON'T THINK I DO. HUMAN ANATOMY IS ALL NEW TO ME. YOU HAVE TO SPELL IT OUT." He sounds so innocent that you almost believe him, but not quite.

_Bullshit._

You practically growl in frustration and try to buck your hips again. Unfortunately, he's much stronger than he looks; his palm pins you down with ease. "Inside of my _cunt_ , Paps."

His eyelights immediately raise from watching his fingers at work, to your face, searching it for any signs of real distress or displeasure. When he finds nothing other than playful irritation in your half-lidded eyes, the sudden tension drains from his shoulders. "THAT'S SUCH A VULGAR WORD," he scolds without any real heat. 

You aren't deterred; instead, his mention of vulgarities ignites a challenge. "You know what else I'd like in there?" Your tongue slowly slides between your lips, wetting them. He takes notice. "Your rock hard di--...ahhh...k..."

His finger cuts you off by spearing inside you, reaching deep and feeling around for the part of you that would feel different--the magic button to press to get you shuddering in delight. "IF YOU WANT _THAT_ , YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO ASK NICELY." 

He's smirking, and you feel a little bit better about confirming he _does_ have one. You thought you had noticed a bulge in his hot pants, and a soft orange glow illuminating the hollow space in his pelvis when he removed his shirt, but you didn't have a chance to attempt to feel it yet. 

"I-I dooo want it," you manage, desperately wanting to rock your hips against his hand. "I want it so bad. I want _you_ so bad."

His face flushes a light orange, and you notice that his hand has ceased pinning down your pelvis in favor of slipping past the edge of the bed and rubbing his cock through his pants. You can't see it from your position, (although you _can_ see his arm moving and feel the soft rock of the bed whenever his arm hits against the edge) but the fact that this is riling him up enough to stroke himself makes you even more aroused.

Your bonefriend slips another finger inside you, rhythmically pumping them in tangent. "THAT ISN'T ASKING," he tuts.

"Will you...ahhh... give me what I want, Papy? Please?" you whimper, trying to make your voice as sugary sweet as possible. It seems to work because Papyrus tilts his head in mock contemplation, before nodding slightly.

"NYEH HEH, HOW CAN I RESIST A REQUEST LIKE THAT?" He leans down and presses his teeth to your clit, and when they part, you feel the spark of his magical tongue lap across it. This time, you _do_ buck off the bed, and Papyrus pulls his head back with a broad grin at the reaction. He withdraws his fingers and changes positions, sitting up on his knees on the bed. There's a definite tent to his hot pants now, stretching them out to the point that you can see the greater trochanters of his femurs in full view. The orange glow seems even brighter now, and there's a damp sheen around what you assume is the tip. 

Unabashedly, you stare, and Papyrus slowly undoes his pants and slides them down his thighs, and his member springs from its confines. His dick is definitely magical--as well as bright orange, with a thick base and a long shaft, standing at full mass. As he lets his pants pool around his boots, Papyrus slides to the edge of the mattress and sits up, leaning over only to unhook your bound wrists from the headboard.

"You untying me?" you ask, trying to follow his lead. It's a pleasant surprise that he's willing to take charge despite his lacking experience. He shakes his head and takes your arms, guiding you toward his lap. 

"NO. NOT YET!" he announces, before lifting your arms up to slip them around his neck. You can't help but grin when you figure out what position he's going for. You're more than happy to accommodate, and you move so you're straddling his lap, your knees on either side of his hips, while you hover perfectly poised above his twitching cock. He clears his throat, momentarily breaking from the firm persona. "IS THIS COMFORTABLE FOR YOU? DO I NEED TO ADJUST THE SCARF?"

He's always such a sweetheart, always concerned about making sure you're comfortable. Your heart flutters in your chest, and you lean forward to kiss his teeth, your fingers shifting to curl around the ridges of his scapula. When you pull back, he's beaming at you, his face flushed with magic. "Everything's perfect, Papyrus."

"A-AS EXPECTED WHEN YOU'RE WITH SOMEONE AS GREAT AS I! AND WHEN SOMEONE JUST AS EQUALLY GREAT IS IN THE MIX--SUCH AS YOURSELF--YOU KNOW NOTHING CAN GO WRONG!" 

"You're right about that." 

He grips your hips with both hands when you start to lower yourself down onto his magical phallus, stopping you just as the head of it prods at your slit. Slowly, he rocks his hips, teasing you with the bulbous tip. It just sinks in enough to spread you open, but doesn't actually go in deep enough to give you any satisfaction. No, it just leaves you wanting more.

"Papy," you whine again, and that mischievous glint is back in his eyesockets. 

"WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOU WANT SOMETHING? HMMM?"

He's going to be the death of you, you just know it. 

"Please, 'yrus?" You arch your back, pressing your breasts against his sternum. He inhales sharply, causing his ribs to rub against your pert nipples, and you only want him that much _more_. "I want to feel you... Don't you want to feel _me_?"

Okay, maybe you're not playing fair, but dammit if you're not about to explode unless he stops teasing you with just the head!

Thankfully, Papyrus has mercy on you... or your claim has severely weakened his control; either one is possible. He leans in, his forehead touching yours and making you almost go cross-eyed to meet his gaze. "OF COURSE I WANT THAT! I'VE WANTED THAT FROM THE FIRST MOMENT YOU SAT ON MY LAP AND KISSED ME!" he admits with a reverent ardor that's intense, even for him. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW BADLY I WANT YOU RIGHT NOW!"

You bend your elbows, using the leverage of the scarf to pull his teeth to your lips. "Then take me, please. I'm all yours, Papyrus," you murmur into the kiss, and finally, he can no longer hold back. 

With a soft _Nyeh_ , Papyrus's hold on your hips loosens, and he angles his hips so he slowly starts going in, inch by agonizing inch. The motion is slow, savoring the feeling--and if it wasn't his first time, you would've slammed down on him so you could feel just how deep he'd hit in one go. But, you manage to refrain, to let him enjoy the moment, and you sink down slow. 

He moans low against your lips, and you take the opportunity to slide your tongue past his parted teeth. Once you're settled as far down his shaft as you can go, you rise up and then sink back down, drinking in his moans and groans of ecstasy. The springs in the mattress make it easy to push yourself up on your knees without getting too tired, and Papyrus uses their bounciness to thrust up into you, meeting you halfway on instinct. 

He feels incredible, his magic tingling inside you while he pants his pleasure directly into your face. He's forgotten his dominant act, instead preoccupied with the throes of pleasure, his phalanges slipping around to knead your ass. 

" _STARS_... AHHH.... THIS... THIS FEELS SO... MMPH.... INCREDIBLE!" His words are forced out on pants and moans, and you can't help but smirk. He was driving you crazy moments before--making you desperate to have him touch you, to have him fill you completely--but now the tables seem to have turned. You're the one controlling the pace. 

You topple forward, throwing him off-balance with your sudden shift in weight. He gasps in surprise right before his back hits the mattress. Your arms are still trapped beneath his neck, but you have better leverage this way. You rock forward, sliding along his length, and then move back down. Your breasts scrape across his sternum with the motion, and he groans again, his dilates eyelights following your body. His hands rest on your thighs, but when you rise up on his shaft... you pause. Only the head of his ecto-cock is buried inside of you, and you can feel his dick impatiently twitch. 

"DON'T STOP!" he sounds aghast, his eyesockets widening. You can't keep the smirk off your face when he tries to raise his hips and sheathe himself in you once more. You're able to squeeze the sides of his hips with your knees to pin him in place. 

You lean down and drag your tongue along the side of his neck. Papyrus releases a shuddering moan, and you plant a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on his cheekbone. 

"That isn't asking," you quote back at him, and you can feel the pliable bones of his face shift when he smiles. His arms wrap around your back, drawing you even closer to his ribs.

"PLEASE DON'T STOP." He nuzzles his teeth into your neck and lightly nips your damp skin. "I DON'T WANT YOU TO EVER STOP. PLEASE." His teeth return to your lips, planting several light kisses on them. "I'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO GET ENOUGH OF YOU."

Your heart's racing, and you gyrate your hips around in a circle, moving the head of his magical member inside of you. He gasps, his arms tightening around you, and you finally start to sink down again.

"Heh. How can I resist a request like that?"


	5. Body Swap (Sans/the Landlady)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Skelelodge (technically classic Undertale, but set in a universe where several AU skelebros have been brought together under one roof)  
>  **Timeline:** Surface; post-pacifist  
>  **Pairing:** Sans / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** the Landlady
> 
> *****Please note!** This prompt is set in what I like to call the Sinful Skeleton Squatters and the Lusty Landlady, otherwise known as S3L3. For those of you that haven't read my other fic, Skeleton Squatters and the Landlady, you should still be good to read this nonsense. This is _not_ canon to SSLL; it's just for fun. xP I actually have a couple of other prompts lined up for S3L3.
> 
> Also, Q is mentioned in this. He's Quarantine!Sans, and he belongs to [Joliemariella](http://archiveofourown.org/users/joliemariella/pseuds/joliemariella). He'll get his own kinktober chapter soon enough.

Helping out in Sans's basement lab beneath the lodge always lead to you getting into some sort of trouble.

The last time you had thought you were helping, you had been tricked into letting an A.I. Sans past a firewall. While it was true that Q ended up being an ally in the lodge--and someone that was helping the science-inclined skeleton brothers repair the machine that brought all of their timelines together in the first place--there had been a moment in that encounter when trepidation had gripped your chest, and you had ended up locked in the basement. You could still recall the heaviness that had pitted when you realized that the skeleton instructing you wasn't actually the Sans you knew, as well as the sheer panic that had washed over you when the door wouldn't budge. 

But those feelings were nothing compared to what you were experiencing now. 

Your chest feels tight, and your vision is blurring. You're kneeling in the basement, trying to recover from whatever the machine just did. It was your own fault, really; you had noticed the light on in the basement and decided to bring Sans some coffee since it was late at night (he'd been pulling several all-nighters lately, and you were worried about him). Unfortunately, you didn't realize that he and Q were running a few tests on the machine, based on the algorithms of Q's simulations. 

"peaches? hey! you ok?" The query, laced with thick urgency and concern, cuts through the sudden throbbing in your skull, and you nod, raising a hand to press against your temple.

Immediately, you freeze. 

Your hand begins to tremble. It's a skeleton hand; your skin and sinew has apparently melted away by the blast from the machine. ( _Yet it didn't hurt; are you just in shock?_ ) A scream begins to build in the back of your throat, but the voice you hear is _definitely_ not yours. No, it's much too baritone. You close your mouth with a clink of your teeth, and plant your skeletal hands on the floor in front of you, sucking in sharp breaths as you try to quell a rising panic attack.

"geez, buddy, what the hell's going on with you?" Q presses, but you're freaking out too much to respond. You've become a skeleton monster, or a zombie, or _something_! Maybe this is all a bad dream. Maybe you're still resting in the loft, having a nightmare that you've become the same as your lodgemates. Maybe--

"What the hell, Q? _What did you do?!_ "

You hear your own voice angrily shouting at the A.I., and you whirl around... only to spot your body standing there, fuming at Q with her hands planted on the desk in front of her and leaning in toward the camera. Q seems taken aback, his hands raised palm-out toward the screen. 

"woah, peaches. calm down. i didn't do anything, so what are you talking about?" 

Cautiously, you step toward your body, your mind whirling to process the image. It's definitely you standing there, deeply scowling with your shoulders trembling. But... it's not really _you_. It can't be. 

You finally look down. A science shirt with the Periodic Table across the front and _I only make science jokes periodically_ beneath it hangs loosely from your torso. You lean forward a little and flinch at the pale bone exposed below, the curve of your patella prominent. And past those legs are, unsurprisingly, mismatched socks and pink slippers.

"sans," your voice comes out in a trembling murmur, but it's enough to catch the attention of both your body and Q. Both look over at you, and while you see Q's brows shoot up, the expression on your body's face melts from irritation to abject horror in two seconds. "sans, you've got to _fix this._ "

"Believe me, kid, we're going to." It doesn't sound right coming from your voice, but Sans-in-your-body reaches out and reassuringly touches your arm.

"wait a sec. wait, wait, wait. back up." Q glances between the two of you, and his eyesockets widen with realization. He starts to shake his head in disbelief. "that can't be right. _please_ tell me you're playing some kind of elaborate prank on me." He stares hard at you, searching your expression for a tell. You feel your eyes (eyesockets?) start to fill with tears (magic?), his visage blurring, and scrambled, censored curses appear at the sides of Q's head. His voice sounds deflated and flat. "fuck... that's really you, peaches." 

You're terrified, but you lean your head back and try to let the tears disperse. Sans rubs your back, trying to provide what comfort he can, but it feels so... foreign. His fingers have a bumpy ride down your vertebrae, and you just feel _off_.

Your chest also still feels tight, like something's pressing in on it. 

"How is something like this even possible? Can you double-check the data?" Sans asks, marginally calmer for your sake. Q's mouth is tight, and you can see a soft glow cast on the side of his features, his eyelights already skimming back and forth, as if he's quickly reading something.

"already on it. before we ran the test, i never saw anything in the data to suggest this as a possibility. it shouldn't be possible," he mutters, and then his expression sags into a deep frown. "but... i also didn't factor in the differences in souls. seems like instead of pulling those with similar souls into your reality, your stupid machine _swapped_ both of your souls."

You clear your throat so your voice won't crack. "why? did i do something?"

Q shakes his head again, his expression still grim. You miss his usual jovial and carefree demeanor, his easy winks and grins. It's making you all the more uneasy about this situation. "just you being that close to sans and the machine was enough apparently."

"So, we switched SOULs," Sans confirms, his hand dropping from your back. He sucks in a deep breath and slowly exhales. "Okay. We just have to figure out how to reverse it... and the sooner, the better. Can you run another simulation?"

Q scoffs. "if you think i'm going to leave things like this, you're insane. i'm not going to rest until this gets fixed." If you were paying closer attention, you'd realize how he's trying to mask his concern, his posture straight, while more screens pop up just out of view. 

You remember hearing something about monsters being able to Confront SOULs--and absorb them. You manage to ask, "can't we just take out souls out and switch, then?"

Sans and Q both shake their heads. "can't," Q answers. "either sans's soul would break or yours would end up absorbed. either way, it wouldn't work out." His expression softens slightly when his gaze shifts back to you. You probably look like a mess, staring at him with what's basically his own face, devoid of its usual grin. "hang in there, peaches. just get some sleep, ok? by the time morning's here, i'll have this problem sorted out--and get both of _you_ sorted into your own bodies."

You're still freaking out a little, but you have to admit, you're also not feeling so hot... or rather, you're feeling _too_ hot. Your bones feel flushed, and you end up grinding the heel of your palm against your sternum when you nod. As much as you want to just sit in the basement and watch them work through the problem, you know you'd only be a distraction. 

"ok, i'll rest for a bit. you really think we can switch back in the morning?"

This time Sans smiles with your face, but it doesn't quite match his gaze. "Don't worry, Y/N. Q and I will stay up all night, running the data. Just, ah..." He rubs the back of his head, and then gesture looks strange when your body does it. He even seems surprised to find that he has hair; you lowkey notice him finger-combing it as he continues, "...don't let the others know we're swapped?"

Nodding on the screen, Q agrees, "yeah, the last thing we need is a herd of pissed off monsters rushing down here to impede my progress."

They've got a point, not that you planned on banging on the doors and letting the rest of the lodge know your dirty secret. Still, you assent with another nod. "i won't let them, don't worry."

And after that, you return to the loft and attempt to nap.

###### 

You wake up to find your knick-knacks floating around your bedroom. In fact, that's not the only thing that's floating--so are you!

With a high-pitched, strangled shriek, you flail and end up hitting the mattress, hard. Your spine bounces, and there's a moment where you flounder in panic, having forgotten you current predicament. You sit up straight in your bed and glance at the mirror, only to see your left eyesocket glowing a bright blue. 

That's new.

Some of your belongings are still floating, but you can't seem to control them. Attempting to concentrate and do so only makes them fall and clatter against the floor. You wince every time, hoping that none of the others hear the racket and come to check on you. 

Your body, however, is burning up worse than before. Something's wrong.

And your eye isn't the only thing that's glowing.

There's a definite illumination coming from your shorts, though it seems to be swirling and moving. You're more than a little freaked out, and as you reach for the waistband, there's a moment where you think that you probably shouldn't look at a crotch that isn't yours--even if you're currently residing in this body. 

Your phalanges hesitate, your thumbs hooking beneath the waistband.

How would you feel if Sans did the same thing while he's in your body? What if he decided to take the opportunity to see what you looked like beneath your clothes? 

Your grip on the shorts loosens, and you begin to withdraw your fingers.

What if he decided to take a shower or change clothes? Would his gaze linger on your curves? Would his fingers explore the differences in your anatomy with a scientific curiosity--or perhaps one of arousal?

A groan builds in the back of your throat as you feel a pang in your chest. Why are you thinking this? Is it because of the fever?

There's something tightening in your pelvis now, and you cast away your morals to figure out what's going on and shove your shorts down your femurs. The instant your pelvis is bare, you softly gasp. 

There's a swirl of magic there, coalescing around your symphysis pubis. It's a bright, beautiful shade of blue, and its movement is mesmerizing. Curiously, you reach out and touch the circular magic, only to have it expand and seek out your hand--as well as feel a shock of pleasure shoot up your spine. You touch it again, feeling your face flush as you bend your knees up and stroke your fingertips through it. 

Another pleasurable wave washes over you, and with each touch, the tightness in your chest seems to loosen. It gets to the point where you can breathe easy again, and you decide that you don't care anymore if you're practically masturbating with someone else's body; all you can think about is alleviating the feeling of compression in your ribcage so you can go back to sleep.

You start touching the magic like you usually do when you're chasing a release; quick, circular motions with alternating pressure. It feels nothing like when you masturbate, however; the touch of hard bone is foreign, and the magic keeps seeming to rise away from your pelvis, only to then be pushed inward. You can't seem to figure it out, other than it seemingly being some sort of ambiguous genitalia. 

A few more moments pass, and as good as it feels, you're becoming frustrated. It doesn't feel _good enough._ You should just go back to bed and try to sleep--and you would, if you weren't so pent up right now and afraid you're going to end up floating over the loft's railing in your slumber.

You're so enthralled in your exploration of trying to figure out what feels the best that you don't even hear the door creak open.

"... Need a _hand_?"

You make a strangled sound and guiltily jump, your legs tangled in your shorts as you grasp for them, desperate to pull them up. Sans is standing at the end of the bed (though it's so surreal to basically see yourself standing there, head tilted ever-so-slightly, and your hands shoved in the pockets of your pajamas with a smirk teasingly curving your lips), and you immediately flush with guilt. 

You're filthy, and he caught you! Something pulses in your chest, and you wince, knocking your knees instinctively together to hide your glowing magic crotch. "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry. i just... something's wrong, sans, and i... i don't... it made it feel..."

All you can manage to blurt are fragmented thoughts and the beginnings of excuses. He's going to hate you, he's going to find you disgusting, he's going to--

Sans sits on the edge of the bed and leans over to slowly push his hand against your sternum, guiding you down against the pillows. Your gaze locks with his, and that smirk remains in place as he chuckles. "Don't worry about it. I'm not mad. I know the feeling all too well." You _know_ you look confused, your stare blank, but thankfully Sans continues, "You're in heat."

"heat?" you parrot. "like... an animal or something?" 

You wince. Comparing monsters to animals--nice one.

He shrugs. "Eh. More like a magic thing. If you get too much pent-up magic, you need a release. Thus, your body overheats. Since you've got a human SOUL in a monster body, and human SOULs are way more powerful than monster ones... well, I kinda figured it might set a heat off pretty quickly."

It makes sense, you suppose. You find yourself nodding along, trying to keep up. Until now, you didn't even know what monsters had between their legs. Stretch had hinted around once, screwing with you while he was on the phone with your _mother_ of all people, and it had piqued your curiosity. But it hadn't piqued it enough for you to actually ask any of your friends. Even when you were drunk, you were too embarrassed to voice the query. 

Now seems like a perfectly logical time to do so, though.

"so is a heat sexual? because, uh... something's going on down there." 

Sans gives you a knowing look and urges your legs back down. You didn't even get your shorts pulled up over your pelvis; the magic is still on full display. "Ah... you haven't figured out how to control the magic yet, so it hasn't properly formed," he explains. His gaze flickers up to yours, and even in the shadows, you can tell he's blushing. "I could... help you out, if you want?"

He's offering to touch you, and you feel your morals rise up to choke you again. On one hand, this isn't your body--it's his--so it would be like masturbation. On the other, that isn't his body, it's yours, so it would be like _you_ were giving Sans a hand job... or fingering? A touching. 

Either way, it could be perfectly natural or absolutely intimate.

And definitely magical.

"... ok."

The word comes out clipped, your teeth clicking together with how fast you shut your mouth. Did you really just agree to that? Sans even seems surprised, but the smile that stretches across his face reassures you.

"Just relax. Don't be nervous. I happen to be _handy_ sometimes." He winks, and you throw your arm over your face. You'd die of mortification if he wasn't so damn funny.

Slowly, Sans reaches down and touches the swirling magic in your pelvis. The feeling of skin is more familiar than bone, but still so _different_ \--as if you're being touched by a stranger even though that's technically _your_ hand. He strokes it, his fingers following the direction of the magic, coaxing it into a shape. Tendrils of magic seek out his fingers, following them as he tugs and caresses the magic away from your pelvis. It starts to feel even better, and you lift your arm slightly to watch him work. It's getting bigger, more magic congealing at the base of your pelvis, and it doesn't take you long to realize that you've just sprouted a literal glowing magical penis. 

His hand grips the shaft and tugs, and you almost come off the mattress. You end up having to bite your sleeve to muffle the sound, lest the others hear you. Sans chuckles again, the sound both teasing and confident, and you feel your arousal twitch against his soft palm.

"now i know that you really have a penis," you comment, and he arches a brow.

"Oh? Is that something that's been on your mind, pal? Did you jump at the chance to take a peek under the shorts?"

You flush and open your mouth to retort, but he slips his hand languidly along the shaft again, and you shudder, groaning low when he squeezes it just right. He really knows what he's doing, but that doesn't come as much of a surprise. You'd probably know how to get your own body riled up in no time, too. 

"I'm just teasing you. I know that heat can be a bitch." His hand pumps up and down, and at this point, the magic is completely firm. It even has a bulbous head like a human cock. "That's why I wanna help you release some of that pent-up magic."

"c-couldn't i... ah, just do magic tricks?"

He shrugs. "You can't seem to control the magic without making a ruckus. I heard things falling, and that's why I came to check on you. This is faster." Abruptly, his hand stills. "Unless you want me to stop?"

"shit no."

His grin returns full-force, and he resumes his pace. "Just checkin'."

While he works his magic along your ecto-cock, his free hand moves up your shirt to touch your ribs. You never knew that was an erogenous zone for skeletons before now, but the moment his hand wraps around a floating rib and rubs, a wanton moan escapes you. The sound in his voice seems to surprise him, and you resume biting your sleeve.

"I reallllyyy don't want the others to think I moan like that," Sans comments, and you can't help but start shaking with laughter. 

"sorry. i'll try to keep it down, but it's hard."

"I know it is," he responds without missing a beat, squeezing your shaft to drive his joke home. "You're still burning up, though. Let's see if we can get you to use some magic."

It doesn't take long, once you get over your embarrassment and start concentrating. As soon as you let yourself get lost to the pleasure instead of overthinking everything, you end up thrusting your hips into his hand and following his lead to explore your ribs and pinch your symphysis pubis. The flesh of his fingers feels much better than the rough scrape of the bone, honestly, and you make a mental note to help him out during his next heat. 

Your climax is building; you know that much. It doesn't feel much different than your normal cusp of orgasm. The pressure's moved to your pelvis, and you're beginning to feel tight, as if you're going to get washed over the precipice with the next wave of pleasure. You thrust harder into his hand, and he keeps up with your pace, and when you finally reach your climax, you end up biting onto your radius through your sleeve. There's a sudden bright glow, and you know that your eyesocket is bound to be lit up a brilliant cyan. At the same time, squirts of excess magic emit from your arousal, which Sans aims up at your T-shirt. 

He just splattered you with your own magical semen. With... _his_ own magical semen? The whole body-switch thing is nothing but a headache to try to figure out, so you just accept it as yours. 

"uggghh, gross. now i need to change shirts."

"Just take it off. I'll discretely wash it tomorrow."

Tomorrow brought up the reality that this isn't a dream. With your heat diminished (but not yet gone... geez, your magical shaft is still hard, and your face still feels flushed, but at least you're a little more level-headed), your thoughts began to turn toward the lab and what would happen if you couldn't switch back. 

Tentatively, you ask, "how's tomorrow looking for us?"

Sans reads between the lines and waves a dismissive hand, his smile calm and reassuring. "Don't worry. Q's running the tests right now, and he assured me he'd be able to switch us back by morning."

You hum in the back of your throat and roll over on top of him, your skeletal hand ghosting along the flesh of his hip. "morning's not for several hours... and i know what we can do in the meantime." 

Your hand slips down the front of his pajamas, and he gasps, gripping the front of your shirt. You hold his gaze, a grin quickly spreading across your face. 

You had thought that he was quick when it came to knowing what his body liked, and you had wondered if you'd be just as good--or maybe even better?--at knowing how to push your own buttons. 

It's time to find out if it's true.


	6. Size Difference (Bittybones Sanses/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Bittybones  
>  **Timeline:** Surface  
>  **Pairing:** Bittybones Sanses / Reader  
>  **Sanses involved:** Undertale, Underfell, Underswap, Swapfell (Sans, Red, Blueberry, Blackberry)  
>  **Reader type:** Has a vagina and breasts

You had originally bought them as pets--but then again, when you first spotted them at the store, they had been mute and practically immobile. 

You supposed you would be, too, given their circumstances. Their habitat had been a clear tank with scraps of newspaper at the bottom, a watering system like a hamster, and a bowl of crunched up kibble. As cute as you thought they were, you were appalled at their state to the point that you bought the entire lot of them, consisting of four skeletons the sign designated as "Sanses." 

It didn't take long for you to realize that these miniature monsters had simply been suffering from a lack of Hope over their dismal situation. As soon as you showed them kindness and gave them the run of your apartment, they began to warm up to you. They were each about as tall as the length of your hand, so you were able to alter doll clothing and purchase tiny, toy furniture to suit their needs. The first one to speak to you was one you nicknamed Blueberry, who possessed boundless enthusiasm and craved physical contact. The next one refuted any nickname you tried to give him, claiming "just sans" was fine, and he always seemed to have a joke on-hand. Red wasn't far behind; he originally came across as grouchy, but after you caught him watching you change one morning with drool accumulating between his fangs, his attitude shifted. He began calling you "sweetheart" and entertaining you with lewd jokes, while Blue reprimanded him. 

The one that took the longest to come around was Blackberry, nicknamed for his tart personality. When he did speak, it was to insult you or the others--or make ridiculous demands--and he typically tried his best to stay by himself. It was only after you caught him crying alone one night and allowed him to sleep with you that he came around and seemed to actually like you.

Months passed, and you had grown used to living with your group of monsters. They talked so much now that it was impossible to see them as pets; they were your friends, ones that you spent almost all of your free time with, be it doing mundane chores or just watching Netflix. 

They also slept with you, and it was a miracle that you hadn't crushed or smothered one of them yet. 

In hindsight, you should've seen this coming. The skeletons had been growing more and more curious about the differences in your anatomy, ever since Sans had off-handedly mentioned that humans have skeletons inside of them. Their curiosity had started off innocently enough, with them spending hours trying to feel the bones in your hands, in your wrists, and along your forearms. 

Tonight, however, Red had shifted that attention from your arms to your breasts when he was lying pillowed between them, and you felt his hand skim just beneath the neckline of your tanktop. It was a hot night, so you'd decided to sleep in just that and a pair of panties, forgoing your bra as usual for comfort, and the position you were lying in pushed your breasts up. It had (probably) been an accident, but his boney palm scrapped directly over your nipple, and you involuntarily jerked, sucking in a sharp breath.

All four of the skeletons are instantly awake, each one turning to look at you. Blueberry lifts his head from his position lying along your humerus and nestled into your side. "ARE YOU OKAY, Y/N?" he queries in his usual, boisterous tone. 

Your face begins to flush, especially as Red's expression starts to shift from surprise to realization. His hand hasn't moved yet, so you shrug your shoulder and arch a little, hoping he'll get the hint and relocate it. 

Of course, he doesn't; his grip tightens a little, pinching your now-pert nipple. You don't make a sound this time, but your thighs clench together. Dammit if that didn't turn you on.

"I'm fine, Blue," you reassure him with a smile, ignoring the lewd smirk Red is directing at you. Blueberry's concern doesn't fade in the slightest--most likely because of how hot your face is now. "I just-- _ah_ , stretched the wrong way."

Red's assault is relentless, but you're trying not to draw too much attention to it. There's a part of you that doesn't even want him to stop rolling his hand over that sensitive bud, and you end up shifting your legs restlessly. 

"OH NO! IS YOUR LEG CRAMPING? DO YOU WANT ME TO RUB IT FOR YOU??" Blue offers, and you vehemently shake your head--so hard, in fact, that Blackberry slides off your pillow (he had been curled up by your cheek, as usual) and lands on your clavicle with a muttered curse.

"Oh, no, it'll work out on its own," you insist, finally reaching up to jerk the neckline of your tanktop higher and simultaneously dislodge Red's wandering hand. The movement of the fabric disrupts Sans, of course, who'd been lying face down on your stomach. He grunts, and you huff in Red's direction; now all the skeletons are disgruntled, disturbed from the beginnings of their slumber.

"IT'S REALLY NO TROUBLE," Blue counters, and he jumps up and crawls beneath the sheet covering your lower half. You start to protest again, but he pauses; you can see his form stop moving beneath the sheet. Sans sits up on your stomach, his curiosity piqued, and you start to rise up a little so you can reach Blueberry and pull him back. Blackberry only slides further down your chest, and both he and Red grasp the front of your tanktop to avoid tumbling off you. 

Your breasts pop out, fully exposed from the way they're pulling the fabric from opposite sides. At the same time, Blueberry's head pops out of the sheet. "Y/N, THERE'S---" His voice dies in his throat, and his skull becomes bright blue. Sans is also staring, his face a similar shade of blue. You shriek a little and swat Red and Black off you so you can rearrange your top. They both bounce onto the mattress with more curses, and you lie back down and cover your face with your hands in complete and utter mortification.

"Did that seriously just happen?" you wail into your hands miserably, hoping that the mattress would just swallow you whole. 

Your skeletal companions are quiet for a moment. You hear Blue and Sans murmur something, but you're too busy groaning over your own embarrassment to listen. You can feel their weight shift; Blue pulls the covers back enough to sit on the bare skin of your thigh, while Sans stands on your stomach. 

"something you wanna get _off your chest_ , kiddo?" You slowly peek through your fingers to see his teasing grin. "two skeletons, right?" Oh, he was trying to cheer you up with humor. It doesn't help at this point.

"Can we pretend that didn't just happen?"

Black's climbing up your arm, his skull tinged a darker blue than the other two. "YOU'RE MAKING IT DIFFICULT TO SLEEP, HUMAN! WITH ALL YOUR SQUIRMING!"

"I'll stop, I'll be still, I'm good now," you blurt in a rush, and the haughty skeleton just shakes his head. 

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER! HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO SLEEP WITH YOU SMELLING LIKE THIS?"

Your expression goes blank. What the hell is he talking about now? Blue isn't making eye contact, but Red's voice growls directly beside your ear, his hand grazing your cheek. "i turned ya on, huh, sweetheart?"

..... _Oh fuck._

They can _smell_ your arousal? Okay, yes, you'll admit that your panties do feel uncomfortably soaked, but you've been a little pent-up lately! It's been forever since you've gone on a date, and living with four small skeleton monsters has left you little time to properly _unwind_. Red's touch had felt nice; under normal circumstances, you would have welcomed more. But this is... taboo? Maybe? They definitely aren't pets--hell, Sans is way more intelligent than you, and all of them are actually _older_ than you are--but there's a considerable size difference.

"I... uh...." Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, and your mortification triples. "I-I'll go shower real quick." You move to sit up again, but both Black and Red put a hand on your shoulders. 

"why not let us finish what i started, doll?" Red inquired, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. "ya seemed to really like it."

If you blush hard enough, will you pass out from all the blood rushing to your head? Is that a thing that can happen? If so, you feel like you're about to experience it. 

"N-no, I'll just... just go shower," you manage, before you draw a sharp breath in between your clenched teeth. Blueberry is poking your soaked core through your panties, while Sans moves to sit on the other thigh, his hand touching the moisture that's slicking your thighs. 

"never been with a human before, but the anatomy isn't that different. just bigger," Sans mentions, and you stare down at him. Blue runs his hand along your clothed mound again, and you breathe in deep. Geez, just how wound up _are_ you? And... are Sans and Blue offering to 'finish what Red started', too? 

"What are you doing...?" you whisper, even though you know very well what they're doing--and what you want them to continue to do. 

"MAKING YOU FEEL GOOD. CAN WE?" Blue asks, literal stars in his sockets. 

The sound you make is noncommittal, torn between giving in and just going to take a shower. Black rolls his eyelights and climbs onto your chest, grabbing the front of your tanktop in his hands. "ENOUGH OF THIS INDECISIVE BEHAVIOR, HUMAN! EITHER SHOWER OR LET US TAKE CARE OF YOU AND _THEN_ SHOWER TOGETHER." You don't move toward the shower, instead giving him a barely perceptible nod. He smirks. "FINALLY. AREN'T THINGS EASIER WHEN YOU JUST ADMIT WHAT YOU WANT?" And with that, he jerks your top away from a breast, while Red quickly moves to expose the other one. 

Before you can even feel embarrassed again, Black is kneeling next to your chest, trapping your shirt beneath his knees, while flicking your nipple with his palm. You breathe out again, and he carefully watches your expression as he experimentally rolls the pert bud around his palm. "SO ALL OF THAT SCENT JUST BECAUSE OF _THIS_? YOU'RE EASY TO PLEASE, AREN'T YOU?" His smirk widens. "OR PERHAPS YOU'RE JUST A FREAK?"

You feel the kink-shame slice into your soul, and it's almost enough for you to just jump up and lock yourself in the bathroom (although Sans and Red could unfortunately teleport, so that wouldn't _really_ help), but then Red manifests a glowing red tongue to lap at your breast, and you're so caught off-guard that you can't censor your moan. Red winks at you, while Blackberry's brow raises, and you decide that staring up at the ceiling instead of looking at them is a much better idea. 

Meanwhile, Blueberry's slid down between your legs and coaxed them apart, while Sans has pulled your panties aside with his magic. The moment Sans's hand touches your engorged clit, you have to fight the urge to jerk your hips, not wanting to dislodge him. He seems to be exploring you, his hands spreading your folds apart and sliding along them. Once he notices how wet you are, he sheds his blue jacket so it won't end up covered. 

Blue, however, has no such qualms. He's found the source of your arousal, and you feel his hand tentatively slide inside as he kneels to feel around. As soon as he begins massaging your walls from the inside, you have to grip the sheets and bite your lip. 

Red's fangs just barely sink into your nipple, and the pleasure/pain makes you release a shuddering moan. "B-be careful," you warn, and you can feel his smirk widen around your skin, before he swirls his tongue.

"i won't hurt'cha, sweetheart. i jus' wanna hear ya sing for me." His fangs graze your skin again, and you reward him with a louder moan. Blackberry seems annoyed that your attention is divided and tugs on your nipple, pinching it between his fingers. It only heightens the pleasure you're receiving below from Sans and Blue.

And when Sans's teeth press against your clit, and you feel his tongue flick against it, you find your legs spreading open wider and your breathing quickening. These skeletons are stimulating everything at the same time, making you feel incredible. Blackberry nips the skin of your breast, shifting to bite closer to your clavicle, while maintaining his grip on your nipple, while Blue has his arm shoved inside you past his elbow, exploring you from the inside. It doesn't take Blue long to decide he wants a taste of you, too, and he buries his face against your folds and begins lapping at them, drinking in your arousal. 

"MMM, YOU TASTE SO GOOD!!" he announces, and you throw your head back against the pillow, the sheets now balled up in your fists. 

They continue working, keeping up their curious exploration of your body, while competing against one another to see who can draw the loudest mewls of pleasure. Any apprehension you felt engaging in this has melted away, replaced instead by the thought _Why haven't we done this sooner?_

Blueberry and Sans swap positions, and Sans seems to have the literal magic touch; you can feel his fingers crackling with the same electric feeling as their tongues when he crooks his arm up and finally finds your G-spot, and you finally feel the pleasurable coil that had been building inside you pull taunt enough to snap. Your inner walls spasm and clench around his arm, and you arch off the mattress, gasping and softly moaning as you ride out your climax. When you finally come down from your high, you notice the skeletons switching positions. Blue and Sans end up at your chest, while Red and Black have slid down your thighs. 

"welp, blue said you taste delicious, so now we've gotta find out," Red claims with a wink, and you're about to say you don't know if you can handle another orgasm like that, but then he nips the inside of your thigh, and you relent. 

By the end of the night, it's safe to say everyone needs a shower.


	7. Cross-dressing (Stretch/Sans)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** AU-mix; technically Undertale  
>  **Timeline:** Surface  
>  **Pairing:** Underswap Papyrus (Stretch) / Undertale Sans  
>  Honeyketchup.
> 
>  ***Fontcest warning ahoy.**  
>  And oh hey, it's my first time ever writing fontcest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a belated birthday present for Essy! <3

It was a game they played, trying to see who could get the most double-takes and groans from their attire. 

The game started during a beach trip when Stretch decided to adorn a bikini top across his ribs, flaunting it -- and his bright crocs -- with a lazy, no-shits-given ease that even impressed Sans. Both skeletons were notorious for their slovenly appearances, and their outfits usually consisted of whatever happened to require the most minimal effort possible, but Sans couldn't pass up a good opportunity to break up his mundane routine with something for shits and giggles. 

The next day, Sans wore both the bikini top and bottoms, and he and Stretch snickered about the looks he received throughout entire the day. It was only when Papyrus's eyelights boggled in opposite directions and he insisted that Sans change ("IT'S _INDECENT_!! PEOPLE CAN CLEARLY SEE YOUR COCCYX THROUGH THEM!") despite the fact that his speedo showed off just as much bone. But Sans could tell it made his brother uncomfortable, so he shrugged and they put the game on hold until they got home.

Every couple of days, they would end up wearing something unusual when they left the house. Frilly skirts, rainbow tutus, coconut bras... Stretch even had a golden wig with his ensemble one day, but Papyrus ended up borrowing it to wear while he drove his convertible and it became tangled beyond all repair. The lazybone bros even tried to walk in heels, but it ended up being way too much effort for them. Stretch ended up with suction-cups on his ribs posing as pert nipples beneath his tanktop, and Sans wore a halter top with his basketball shorts. 

And then, one night... it became a private game.

Stretch waltzed into Sans's room wearing a shit-eating grin and a maid-outfit. The skirt was short and frilly, and he'd even gone the extra mile with black stockings to match. Of course, after the last failed attempt with heels, he'd deemed it too much effort and left his crocs on. Somehow, they just pulled his outfit together.

Sans had been lying on his mattress, a book open across his lap, but the moment he took in the sight of Stretch, he carelessly slung the book into the junk littering his floor. His bony brow raised. He was no stranger to Stretch coming into his room during the night -- the two had an intimate relationship they didn't complicate with a label, one where they could go from chuckling and exchanging jokes to swapping magical saliva in five seconds -- but he wasn't dressed to play himself. Sans was wearing a shirt Stretch had picked him up months ago ("I could study Uranus all night long" with an image of the planet beneath) and his usual shorts, with mismatched socks. It wasn't nearly as attractive as the maid outfit on Stretch. Sans's eyelights traveled the length of Stretch's exposed legs, and he let out a low whistle.

"heh, see you found a new outfit for our game," he commented, his grin broadening. "what _maid_ you put it on and show me?"

Stretch shrugged, closing the door behind him and then quite deliberately clicking the lock in place. That answered that question. "i was in the neighborhood and felt like calling someone 'master.' edge wasn't around, sooo... guess you'll have to do." 

Sans chuckled. "too bad. i would've liked to see the look on his face."

Stretch crossed the floor, wading through dirty laundry, empty chisps bags, and balled up notebook pages. He was used to the state of the room; it mirrored his own, aside from his belongings being sticky from remnants of honey and suckers and there being cigarette butts discarded within the trash. "me too. the look on your face is pretty nice, though... almost makes up for it." 

"that so? maybe i can do something about that 'almost.'" Sans's voice dropped lower than usual, his grin becoming sly. 

Stretch mirrored the expression, still feigning innocence. "what're you planning to do about it... _master?_ " He sat down next to Sans on the mattress, and scooted close, his hand coming to rest on Sans's femur, just above his patella. When the tips of Stretch's phalanges began skimming beneath his basketball shorts, Sans could feel his magic beginning to stir, sparking down his spine to begin coalescing in his pelvic girdle. 

Despite his awakening magic, Sans shrugged in nonchalance. "welp, you _are_ a maid, and... have you seen the state of this room? could use a good cleaning."

Stretch snorted, nonplussed. "better start with this shirt, then," he said, moving his hands to grip the hem of Sans's T-shirt and drag it up his ribcage. Sans easily complied, lifting his arms for Stretch to divest him and sling the shirt behind him. It knocked over a stack of books on the corner of his desk, but both skeletons ignored the clatter. 

"that shirt was probably the only clean one in this room, ya'know," Sans remarked, and Stretch just chuckled.

"doubt that, considering how _filthy_ the guy wearing it is." His grin stretched, and he boldly dropped his hand to Sans's crotch, squeezing the manifested magic in his palm. "i mean, look. all it takes is a maid fantasy and someone callin' him master to make him pop a tent." 

Stretch stroked him through his shorts, feeling the magic take on a firmer shape, the base becoming thicker. Sans breathed in sharp through his nasal cavity, his sockets shuttering in pleasure. 

"mm, guy sounds like a real freak," Sans manages to comment evenly. He's notoriously difficult to get riled up, his moans always quiet -- something that Stretch usually takes as a personal challenge. Before Stretch can retort, however, Sans grasps his wrist, stopping his languid strokes. There's more than amused humor in his eyelights now; there's a heat simpering there, one that has Stretch's magic igniting even more than before, casting a soft orange glow across the white frills of the poofy skirt. In one fluid motion, Sans has pushed Stretch back so his spine is against the mattress, leaving the shorter skeleton to lean over him. "but you know who's really a freak? the maid that's gettin' hard just thinking about what his master's got in store for him."

"pfft, total freak," Stretch chuckles lightly, his eyesockets lazily lidding. 

"mmhmm," Sans hums in the back of his throat, before unceremoniously flipping Stretch's skirt up, instantly exposing his length. He wasn't expecting to see it on full display just yet, so he nearly chokes on a chortle of surprise. 

"what? did you want me to wear some frilly panties to complete the outfit?"

"well, i thought you'd at least be wearing boxers," Sans admits, his grin still in-place.

"nah, i like the breeze." Stretch wags his brows and shakes his pelvis, causing his ecto-dick to wag toward Sans. The stouter skeleton takes the hint and grips Stretch's shaft, giving it several firm strokes. The magical tingle is familiar against his palm, and when he brings it across the bulbous head of his member, he finds it wet with pre-cum. 

"kinky. i'd go commando in a skirt, but i'd probably just make an _ass_ out of myself."

Stretch winks. "i'd like to be there when you do, so i can make that _ass_ essment."

Sans pumps his hand a little harder, squeezing around the tip of Stretch's erection, and the lankier skeleton groans, blowing out his breath. He reaches out and hooks his phalanges around Sans's ribs to yank him forward, simultaneously leaning up to clank teeth with him in a kiss. Sans gasps slightly at the feeling of Stretch's hand gliding over his sensitive ribs (stroking them always felt so good when he was aroused, especially where they connected to his sternum, and Stretch knew just how to work them), and Stretch takes advantage of the gap between his teeth to slip his tongue into Sans's mouth. Sans presses back against the other's tongue, drinking in both his taste and his low groan when Sans rubs the tent of his shorts against Stretch's exposed length. 

Stretch keeps himself propped up with one arm, the other trailing down from Sans's ribs to grip the waistband of his shorts and shove them down. A bright blue, girthy arousal springs from the confines, and Sans presses his hips forward, lining up their shafts to grind against one another. The heat and static crackle of their magic feels good enough to make Sans pick up the pace, timing it with the rhythm of their tangled tongues. Finally, when it's becoming too much-- or not enough, rather -- Sans breaks the kiss with a labored gasp and locks gazes with his partner. 

"ok, turn around and show me those _ass_ ets." Somehow, he manages to keep the pun alive despite the fact that his magic is so worked up that his SOUL is thrumming within his chest. 

Stretch grins wide and chuckles. As he lazily flips over and bends his knees, he wiggles his hips again and glances over his shoulder. "yes, _master_."

Sans swears under his breath, reaching out to grab Stretch's hips and pull him to the edge of the mattress. "ok, maybe i really am a freak because i liked that."

"you like what you see, master?"

Sans lined himself up with the opening of Stretch's pelvic girdle, lightly scoffing. "don't overuse it."

"as you wish, master." 

Sans groaned and pushed his way inside, his groan quickly taking on an entirely different inflection when his shaft encountered the iridescent sheen of magic that Stretch formed as a barrier. At the same time, Stretch thrust his hips against the mattress, grinding his cock against it for added release. Sans quickly regained his composure from the initial thrust and fell into a rhythm, and his hand snaked around the front of Stretch's pelvis, to stroke his cock in time with the thrusts. With the maid skirts flipped back down, Sans could feel the soft fabric brush against his ribs as he leaned over Stretch, and the stockings his partner wore rubbed against the front of his femurs. It was strangely erotic when coupled with the fact that Stretch had been calling him master. 

Grunting, Sans's pace became slightly erratic when Stretch's breaths hitched into moans that he tried to muffle against the mattress. The last thing they needed was one of the others hearing them and then trying to barge in to this sight. Still, the sound just spurred Sans on, causing him to aim deeper, the backside of Stretch's coccyx scraping against the prominent curve of Sans's sacrum.

( _He had to be careful with his aim. During one overzealous night, they'd both twisted just right to get the tip of Stretch's coccyx hooked within one of Sans's obturator foramen... and while that had been hilarious to untangle, it was also quite the mood killer. Sans had learned his lesson._ ) 

He could hear Stretch getting close, his breathing becoming shallow and hitched, and it was enough to put him right on the cusp as well. While he continued to stroke the lengthy orange shaft, Sans's other hand shifted from the crest of Stretch's hip, to the tip of his coccyx. He circled it with his hand and squeeze, bone scraping bone as he pumped his palm along it in tandem with the other one. 

With a shuddering groan, Stretch pressed his face into the mattress and splattered the wrinkled sheets with bright orange magic. Sans gasped, bending further over Stretch's prone form and racking his teeth along his shoulder blade to muffle the sound of his own climax. The barrier within Stretch became lined with blue, and Sans slumped over onto his partner.

Weakly groaning, Stretch rolled over onto his back, forcing Sans to slide onto his side. Both skeletons took a moment to regain their energy, before Stretch sat up to pull the costume over his head. He still had a black tanktop on beneath it, but the frills of the skirt were coated in blue... as was Stretch's pelvis and the sheets beneath him, now that his formed magic had dispersed. 

Sans half-heartedly began nudging the sheets away from him with his foot -- and closer to Stretch. 

"so, uh... since you had the whole maid thing going... what's the chances you're going to clean these sheets for me?"

Stretch smirked and leaned over, clinking his teeth against Sans's cheekbone, before whispering next to the side of his head:

"zero... _master._ "

With that, Stretch dropped the maid outfit in Sans's lap and walked right out the bedroom door wearing nothing but a tanktop, black thigh-highs, and... crocs. 

Sans held his breath for a few moments and was rewarded by a distant, horrified shout from Edge.


	8. Roleplay (Blueberry/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Underswap  
>  **Timeline:** Surface; post-pacifist  
>  **Pairing:** Underswap Sans (Blueberry) / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Has a vagina and happens to be a biker. 
> 
> *Loosely based on the biker chick from my [Biker Blueberry imagine ](https://tyranttortoise.tumblr.com/post/157911369853/i-seen-that-you-have-us-sans-be-able-to-drive-a)

The roar of a powerful motorcycle approaching rattled the windows of the bar, even over the beat of the music pouring from some unseen speakers. You didn't look up from the pool table, but a smirk crossed your lips as you lined up your shot. The tip of the cue hit the ball, and there was a loud _crack_ as the other balls scattered across the felt, a solid one rolling into the side pocket. 

You try to act aloof and focused on your solo game, but you're acutely aware of the motor shutting off and the front door opening and closing. You spare a glance to your phone to check the time. 

_Right on time. He always_ is _punctual._

You take your time lining up your next shot, and being sure to stretch out over the edge of the pool table, rocking up onto the tips of your boots to really put your tight jeans on display. A moment passes... then another. Your legs start to get sore, and you're about to abandon the sexy pose and just take the shot when a firm hand suddenly smacks your ass. Jerking slightly, you miss the shot, your cue sliding across the table to cut through an invalid ball. 

Two hands grip your hips as you straighten, gloved fingers ghosting along the skin exposed from the gap where your shirt has ridden up. Hot breath fans against your neck as the male speaks, "WHAT'S A PRETTY THING LIKE YOU DOING PLAYING ALONE?"

There's a heat to his voice that makes your heart-beat quicken, and you try to keep your smirk under control. Turning your head slightly, you glance up at him through lowered lashes. "I just haven't found anyone interesting to play with... yet."

He shifts so his face comes into full view. The skeleton monster's eyelights are a vibrant blue that match the bandanna knotted around his neck. He's wearing a leather jacket with studs embedded in the shoulders, a crisp white button-up shirt underneath. Chains jangle from his leather pants, which are tucked into thick-soled, lace-up combat boots. In your opinion, he nails the tough biker skeleton look--but what's more badass than a literal skeleton on a motorcycle?

"WELL, YOU'RE IN LUCK, HUMAN! SOMEONE INTERESTING HAS JUST WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR... AND WANTS TO PLAY WITH _YOU_." 

You turn in his hold to face him, your hands gripping the edges of the billiard table as you lean back against it, making a show of looking him up and down. His hands still rest on your hips, but they're slowly shifting up your sides, making you squirm. His smile isn't nearly sly or sleazy enough for that line; no, instead it's filled with an energetic endearment, and his cheekbones are dusted a light cyan that matches his gaze. 

You smirk. Time to have some fun.

"Slow down there, Bones. You think I let just anyone _play with me_? What do you take me for?" Your brow quirks, and you watch as his expression momentarily falters, his eyesockets widening. Gloved fingers withdraw from beneath the hem of your shirt.

"N-NO, I... I DIDN'T MEAN--"

You wink, cutting off his backpedaling, and lean in. Your lips just barely brush the arch of his cheekbone, leaving a faint imprint of cherry red lipstick, as you murmur, "You've gotta buy me a drink first, Bones."

He pauses, and you pull back to see his confident grin return full-force. "O-OF COURSE! I WAS ABOUT TO OFFER... I MEAN, _INSIST_ THAT YOU JOIN ME AT THE BAR!" He steps back, allowing you to move from the table, and leads you to the bar area in the back. The entire establishment quite heavily caters to bikers, so your companion stands out as the only monster and draws quite a few stares. He's nonplussed by the attention, instead focusing on you as he slides onto a barstool and you take the seat beside him, crossing your leather boots. 

"What'll it be, Sugar Skull?" the bartender, a woman sporting quite a few piercings and tattoos, grins over at the both of you. Of course, you know her -- you've spent your fair share of time at this bar -- but the skeleton beside you puffs out his chest.

"THE NAME'S SANS. AND I'LL HAVE A SHOT OF WHISKEY. AND MY COMPANION, WHO I'VE ONLY _JUST MET_ , WILL TAKE...?"

Confusion seeps into her gaze until you wink, and then she makes a quiet "Ahhh" beneath her breath. 

"Make that two, thanks. Jameson," you respond, and she nods with a grin and reaches beneath the bar-top.

"Sure thing, sugar. You crazy kids have fun." She sets a shot glass in front of each of you and pours, before turning toward the next patron on the other side of the bar. You and Sans both reach out and pick up the glass, and your clink yours against his.

"Here's to an _interesting_ night."

"MWEH HEH HEH, I'LL MAKE CERTAIN IT'S ONE YOU WON'T FORGET," he vows with a grin, before following your lead and knocking back the shot. The liquor burns the back of your throat on its way down, but you're used to the after-taste. Sans, on the other hand, is not. His expression crumbles as he smacks the heel of his palm against his sternum, making a terrible face. 

It's all you can do not to laugh. You have to bite your lip. He's just too adorable.

"THAT--" His voice is hoarse, the timbre deeper than usual. He clears it and carefully amends his expression. "--WAS DELICIOUS."

"Really now?" you query with a quirked brow and an amused grin. Sans assuredly nods, while pushing the empty shot glass away from him and scooting closer to you. His hand pointedly settles on your upper thigh, his fingertips dangerously close to the crease of your crossed legs. He immediately had your attention.

"YES, BUT I WONDER..." He leans in closer, his teeth grazing the curve of your jaw. "IF YOU'D TASTE EVEN BETTER."

You feel a tingle along your neck and realize he's manifested a tongue to sample you right here and now, and you end up crossing your legs even harder. Sans wiggles his fingertips, drawing them further along your inner thigh, and you can feel his teeth curve in a knowing smirk. 

"Ah..." You're at a loss for words, and it's not fair that he's so good at teasing you. You have to think of something to tease him back! "W-well, Bones... you seem like a guy..." His teeth graze your clavicle, and you momentarily lose your train of thought, your fingers clutching the soft leather of his jacket. Are people still staring at the two of you? Maybe you should've made that a double-shot. Is it too late? 

"HMM?" He prompts, and the low way the sound rumbles in his chest does wonderful, unholy things to your insides.

"L...like a guy that's able to handle a rough ride on a powerful bike." 

The praise has him wrapping an arm around your shoulders, drawing you closer against him. You can feel the confidence radiating from him as he beams, and when he pulls his face back to meet your gaze, you note that his eyelights have morphed into literal stars. "MWEH HEH! OF COURSE! THE MAGNIFICENT SANS IS BOTH AN EXPERIENCED RACER AND ONE OF THE TOUGHEST BIKERS YOU'LL EVER MEET!" 

His boasting brings back your own confidence in this game; he's playing right into your set-up. "That right?" you practically purr, slipping your free hand up his chest and deliberately inside the space between buttons on his shirt. Your fingertips graze his sternum, and you curl them inward to rake your nails across it. He sucks in a sharp breath, his features instantly lighting up blue. "What about a human, then?"

"A... A HUMAN?" He's not following, his own thoughts preoccupied as you attempt to wedge your fingers further within his shirt. There's a static feel to his bones, one that lets you know his magic is brimming right at the surface.

Nodding, you lean in close, your gaze half-lidded. "Mmhmm. Think you can handle a rough ride on _me_ , Bones?"

The pieces finally click in place for Sans, and his eyesockets widen while the lights within dilate and glow even brighter than before. 

"O-OH, HUMAN..." His voice has dropped to that low rumble again. "YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW BADLY I WANT TO TAKE YOU FOR A RIDE."

And he has no idea how bad you want it, either. His fingers twitch, and you rock your hips forward on the barstool, trying to get them to touch more than just your inner thigh. 

"Then do it."

His gaze seems glazed over with _want_ as he blinks twice and then glances around. "...WHERE? ARE WE LEAVING?" 

He seems to have broken character for a moment, so you shake your head and take the reins for a moment, grasping his hand and leading him backward toward the side room of the bar. The restrooms are back there--as is the utility closet. You cast a glance around to make certain no one else is around or following the two of you (geez, could you be any more obvious?) and pull open the door. When Sans realizes what you're doing, he stops, apprehension clear on his face.

"HERE? I... ARE YOU SURE?" 

You're not sure if he's appalled by the idea of a quick fuck in a broom closet of a bar or if he's just embarrassed by the idea of possibly getting caught. Honestly, the rush from both the locale and the possible danger is what has you clenching your thighs together with a pang of need. 

But you're also not about to make him uncomfortable, so you stop halfway inside the broom closet. "If you want to stop and just play pool, that's okay, Sans."

You see indecision weigh on him. However, he quite obviously _does_ want to continue, so with a quick glance around, he quickly shoves you the rest of the way inside and shuts the door. It's dark, but you pull a cord hanging overhead, and a dim bulb illuminates the cleaning supplies shoved into the corner. Thankfully, there's an actual lock on the inside, so Sans releases a sigh of relief and clicks it in place. He seems much more at ease after that. 

"Not into exhibitionism, Bones?" you tease, stepping forward to cup his skull between your hands. His face is still hot, flushed with magic.

"I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO SEE YOU BUT ME," he confesses, that heat returning to his gaze as he drags your hips against his. His smirk fades slightly, the apprehension returning. "AM... AM I DOING ALL RIGHT?"

You can't help but smirk. "You're doing fantastic. This 'first date' roleplay is pretty fun."

His expression brightens. "IT IS, ISN'T IT?" 

You hum in agreement and kiss his grin, pushing him against the wall. You're beyond ready to jump his literal bones. Vibrant red lipstick smears against his teeth, and he responds immediately, pushing his tongue past your lips to finally get a real taste of you. The crackle of magic and the feeling of his fingers gripping your hips is enough to make you feel light-headed -- who needs a second shot of whiskey when you can just get drunk off Sans's kiss?

He seems to slip back into his biker bad-boy persona and pushes back against you, causing you to stumble back a couple of steps until your back hit the opposite wall, effectively reversing your positions. He breaks the kiss to fumble with the button of your tight jeans, and you take the opportunity to tug his bandanna aside and latch onto the side of his neck with your mouth. Your tongue lashes against a cervical vertebrae, and Sans gasps, losing his grip on the button. He's practically rattling with anticipation, and he quickly regains his composure enough to undo and unzip your pants. 

You palm the front of his pants, feeling the firm arousal that's manifested there, and Sans stops peeling off your leather pants just long enough to grasp your wrist and pin it against the wall beside your head. His eyesockets are shuttered with desire when he meets your gaze and shakes his head slightly, his free hand pushing your pants down your thighs. You can't take them all the way off without removing your boots, but you have a feeling that with this frantic, down-and-dirty quickie, you won't have to. 

He takes off his glove with his teeth and then shoves it into the pocket of his jacket, freeing his phalanges to reach between your legs and slick across your folds. You're soaking wet, and you spot the surprise on his face at the discovery melt into a smirk of pure confidence. "YOU'RE REALLY INTO THIS. I LOVE FEELING WHAT I DO TO YOU..." He delves his fingers into your core, and you release a shuddering moan as you meet his gaze. "...ALMOST AS MUCH AS I LOVE _HEARING_ WHAT I DO TO YOU."

To drive his point home, he pumps his finger quickly inside you, and you can hear the sloppy _squelch_ or your arousal coating his fingers. 

It's a nice change, you'll admit, seeing him be the completely dominant one during intimacy. He started off meek, as someone unsure and inexperienced, yet eager to learn how to please you. His anatomy had also thrown you for a loop, of course, so there had been plenty of nights of experimentation between the two of you, both searching for just the right touch to drive the other crazy. Sans was a quick learner with boundless energy, but it always felt as if you were still in control. 

So, you had explained this fantasy to him one night when you were more than a little tipsy, and he had enthusiastically vowed to make it a reality. 

Never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined your sweet Bones pinning you against a wall in a broom closet of a bar, talking dirty while he fingered you. To say it was a turn-on would be an understatement. 

"Oh, Bones..." You clench your free hand in the front of his jacket, desperately trying to hold on while your knees began to feel weak. His fingers had grown experienced; he knew just how to touch you to make you a quivering mess. And you wanted to return the favor. "Sans, let me touch you..." You wiggled the fingers of the hand still pinned to the wall beneath his own, and he shook his head. There were red smears all over his face. If he'd give you the proper chance, you'd love to give him a red lip imprint around the base of his magical cock, too. "Taste you, then?"

His hand shifts, his thumb rubbing a circular motion around your clit while his fingers pump within you. You moan again, a gasping, needy sound that you attempt to cut off by biting your bottom lip again. Sans leans in, pressing his teeth to your lips again, but the moment your lip is coaxed from between your teeth, he captures it between his own and gently nips. 

Your knees are becoming even more wobbly, and Sans breaks the kiss and releases you entirely. The moment the pressure disappears from your wrist, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself, while Sans holds out his ungloved hand. His phalanges are glistening with your arousal, the sheen of it sticking between his bones. Quite deliberately, he holds your gaze and licks his fingers clean... before leaning forward to kiss you again. You can taste yourself on his tongue, your flavor crackling with his magic, and you moan into the kiss. 

You hear the clack of a belt, and the rattle of the chain looped at the side of his pants as he shifts the fly of his jeans open. You break the kiss this time to glance down at the faint blue illuminating the front of his star-print boxers. Sans doesn't even pull them down; instead, he guides his shaft through the front hole, and you roll your hips against it to feel the heat of his magic against your skin. 

He presses his body against yours, his erection shifting upward to press against your belly. You're trying to figure out the linguistics of the position (you can't get your legs open that wide with your pants still bunched up at your knees), but Sans seems to reach a solution before you. "TURN AROUND," he instructs directly into your ear, and you obey the firm command at once, a little thrill only further igniting the fire in your lower abdomen. 

Setting your hands on the wall as you face it, you spread your legs as far as you can and stick your ass out a little. Sans wastes no time getting in position behind you, bending his knees slightly and using a hand to guide his tip into the proper entrance. You're so turned on that he slips inside with ease, but the position of your legs allows you to feel every inch of his crackling magic so _perfectly._ His pace is erratic, his thrusts randomly alternating between deep and shallow -- you're used to a measured rhythm and steady pace. The curve of his pelvis scrapes against your ass whenever he hilts inside you, and he presses his body against your back, one hand reaching up to lace his fingers with yours against the wall(hand holding during intimacy is always a constant with Sans, no matter the position), and the other wrapping around your torso to grope your breast. 

He's moaning and breathing heavily against your neck, trying to be quiet despite the fact that he's normally an incredibly _vocal_ lover. You can feel him bite into your jacket in an attempt to muffle the sounds he wants to make, his ribs rattling with the effort. You start rocking your hips back into his, trying to hilt him even deeper within you, and he groans out loud, squeezing your breast even harder, his hold possessive. 

Your breathing quickens, and the sounds of your lover are only turning you on more, spurring you toward your climax. You're trying to be quiet, too, but it's difficult -- especially when his hand drops from your chest to the bundle of nerves between your legs, rubbing his ungloved fingers in a frantic circle. That means he's close, you realize. He's close, and he wants you to--

c o m e u n d o n e . 

"Shit, Bones," you gasp, your moans no longer hushed, labored breathing but loud curses laced with ecstasy. Sans grunts, and after a few more shallow thrusts where your inner walls spasm and clench around his erection, he abruptly pulls out of you. Excess blue-tinged magic splatters against the wall, his hand no longer between your legs, but instead guiding the aim so he doesn't end up getting it on your clothes. 

You take a moment to catch your breath while Sans recovers, the glow of his magical member dissipating. He separates from you, and you both straighten your clothing. Both your arms and your legs feel weak, your fingers numb as you button your pants. Sans seems just as rattled; it takes him several tries to get his belt buckled. His usually-immaculate shirt is wrinkled, one of the buttons undone, and his bandanna is lop-sided, red smears across his neck. In fact, there's still lipstick imprints on his cheek, smeared across his teeth, and on the corner of his mouth. You can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at leaving your mark on him, but when you try to rub it off his teeth, it just smears worse.

Whoops.

Sans ends up running his tongue along his teeth until it's gone, but as you start to leave, you remember something important. 

There's magical jizz on the wall. You'll never understand why it doesn't just dissipate when Sans's ecto-dick does, but when you asked about it, he simply claimed it didn't work that way. The blue goo has slid down the wall to pool on the linoleum. 

You both exchange a look. Sans flushes slightly in embarrassment and rubs the back of his head. 

"WELL, I THINK WE'VE DISCOVERED THE BEST REASON TO BE INTIMATE IN A BROOM CLOSET..."

He picks up a mop out of a nearby bucket and gets to work cleaning up the mess.


	9. Asphyxiation (Oceanfell Sans/ Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Fell Underwater (fell spin-off of Oceantale)  
>  **Timeline:** Underwater  
>  **Pairing:** Oceanfell Sans / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Has a vagina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _Please note_ : This is actually what I guess you'd call my AU! I'm not sure if there's already an Oceanfell (I don't really think there is, but mine's really different from Oceantale, anyway), so I decided to differentiate it by calling it Fell Underwater. I've always wanted to write something for a pirate Sans, and [I've had a few headcanons about a universe I'd like to write up](https://tyranttortoise.tumblr.com/post/162323653534/sesrins-symphony-i-know-you-asked-me-what-my) involving that Sans/Paps coming to the Surface for human SOUL sacrifices... soooo, this is pretty much a one-shot for that. 
> 
> It was originally meant to be a little more cruel--the asphyxiation kink was going to be with the Reader having a shackle around their neck--but it kinda evolved into something fluffy instead. Whoops. 
> 
> Oh well. If you want more choking, feel free to check out [the Horrortale Sans/Reader one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10715589/chapters/23740206) I wrote months ago. Although... it kinda turned out fluffy, too, now that I think about it. 
> 
> I'm beginning to sense a pattern.

You'd always had terrible luck. 

If something could go wrong, it couldn't just go wrong for you; no, it'd be a disaster. 

That's why you saw it coming. The Raffle occurred every seven years, after all. When you came of age to be put into it, you tried to run -- to move away from the coastal city you despised -- but they dragged you back, kicking and screaming. Your name had been entered thrice as punishment, but somehow, you miraculously didn't get pulled. 

You knew your luck wouldn't last, however. You _knew_ it, and yet, you weren't able to leave the city, your infraction pushing back your request until after the next Raffle. And when they called your name that time, along with six others, you weren't surprised in the slightest. When they forced you to stand along the coastline, dressed in your best attire, you didn't wail or whine like the others. No, you impassively stood there, glaring at the crashing waves and cursing the fact that you'd been born beneath a terrible omen. 

When the pirate ship rose from the depths of the murky water, sporting a Jolly Roger sail and a skull with flashing red eyes affixed to the bow like a demon rising from hell, you sucked in a breath and put on a brave face. When literal _skeleton_ pirates disembarked from their vessel and began examining the sacrifices, trying to pick out which one had the strongest SOUL to power their barrier, you tried to keep your breathing even. One by one, they Confronted the others, calling forth their SOULs despite their frightened cries. You kept staring straight ahead, though you saw flickers of greens and purples and light blues from the peripherals. 

And then the shorter of the two skeletons stopped directly in front of you. You defiantly stared at a point just past his shoulder, and you could see his smirk widen, the sharp golden tooth glinting. Skeletal phalanges gripped your chin and tilted it back, forcing you to look up and meet his single crimson eyelight. The opposite socket was concealed beneath an eyepatch, a jagged crack vertically running through his orbit and disappearing beneath his feathered hat. Despite the grandeur of his attire, his appearance was slovenly, the dark jacket too big for his frame, a rusted shackle clasped around his neck, and his ivory, button-up shirt mostly undone and halfway untucked.

"well, well..." the monster drawled, tilting his head as he regarded you with amusement. "ye look like a lass that gives no quarter. i wonder if that's the tale yer soul'll be singin'."

A shiver ran up your spine; you could smell smoke and must on his breath from his close proximity, and you had to avert your eyes. He chuckled, and the tips of his fingers dug into your chin. In the next moment, you felt something grip within your chest, squeezing the very breath from your lungs. The feeling forcibly ripped something from within you, and you gasped, the world suddenly draining of color.

All except for the bright orange glow of the little heart floating before you. 

Your SOUL.

The stout monster's bone brow raised, and the light seemed to draw the attention of the taller one. You barely registered the other's lankier, more jagged appearance; everything seemed muffled, like their voices were coming from underwater.

When they both smirked at you, you finally allowed yourself to feel fear.

###### 

A month has passed since that day, and yet... you're still alive. 

Your SOUL hasn't been harvested for the barrier, and the skeleton brothers (you discovered they were brothers the second day, when you realized just how comical their nagging, back-and-forth banter could be--under other circumstances) have kept you fed and well. Their boat descended beneath the water, to some part of the ocean that felt much colder than you expected, but... you were actually able to breathe and see just fine underwater. They amused themselves in watching you struggle that first day, desperately holding your breath and clawing at the porthole of your cabin.

"FOR SUCH A COURAGEOUS LASS, SHE'S RATHER DAFT," the taller one (Papyrus, you later discovered his name was) rasped as he passively observed your struggles.

"breathe, bucko," his brother (Sans, the one with the golden tooth and promiscuous winks) instructed, chortling over your display. When you actually gave in and were forced to take a breath, you were surprised when water didn't fill your lungs. You turned your wide-eyed stare to your captors, and they both started laughing all over again. 

"did'ja really think we're such monsters that we'd drown ya first thing? underwater's full o' magic, lassie. an' magic can do all sorts o' things."

You'd hated them at first. Their mocking smirks, their probing questions... you avoided talking to them, but also flailed your arms out whenever they got too close. If you were going to die by two monsters much stronger than you, then fine. The world was cruel, but you accepted the impossibility of your situation. But that didn't mean you were going to just roll over and let it happen. No, you were going to fight for your life until the bitter end.

As time stretched, however... you began to wonder what was taking so long. 

You had full run of the lower decks of the ship, though most of the wood was rotted and riddled with holes that you could easily slip through if you wanted. The first time you attempted that, however, a monster with jagged teeth and fins almost immediately devoured you. Sans had been there to save you; he'd apparently been lazily tailing you the entire time. He didn't force you back to the ship, but he warned you of the dangers lurking beneath the ocean. It confirmed every horrifying myth you'd ever heard growing up. 

You tried to swim to the surface, but your arms and legs got so tired that you actually passed out. When you woke up, you were back in your cabin, with monster food left on the nightstand. Sometimes, it was disgusting... sometimes, it was actually delicious. It depended on which brother brought you the food.

One night, when Sans was in your room, kicked back in a chair with his feet propped up (one of his legs was a peg leg, you'd discovered) and his hat tilted over his face, you finally spoke. 

"W...why?"

Your voice was hoarse, and cracked with disuse, but the sound was enough to rouse Sans immediately. When he tipped his hat back, surprise was clear on his face, though he quickly amended it with his usual smirk. "ahhh, so she finally speaks! i was beginnin' to wonder if ye were mute, lassie."

You ignored the comment and pressed on, "Why am I here?"

He shrugged with nonchalance, crossing his boot over his peg leg. "ye got a fool's luck an' one o' the strongest souls i've ever laid eyesocket upon."

"But if you were going to use my SOUL for the barrier... why haven't you done it yet?"

He's silent. After a few moments, he starts to snore. 

UGH, did he seriously fall asleep in the middle of an important conversation?

###### 

More time passes, and you're still alive.

You begin speaking to Sans whenever he comes by to loiter in your cabin, and you also begin eating meals at the table with both brothers at night. They're growing on you, despite your best efforts. 

There's even a moment where Sans falls asleep on the couch in your cabin, and you end up moving to lie down on the cushions beside him. You don't know if it's Stockholm Syndrome, or the fact that these brothers have been much nicer to you than any human has on the Surface, but... you just wanted to be close to him.

He slings his arm around you, and you fall asleep with your cheek pressed into the ribs exposed from his sloppily-buttoned shirt. 

When you awaken, you're back in your bed and wondering if it was all just a dream. 

Whenever you ask Sans why you're still alive, he either hedges the query or Papyrus decides to choose that very moment to interrupt.

"SANS! YOU BILGE RAT, I SWEAR YOU'RE ALWAYS SLACKING OFF! IF YOU DON'T COME HERE AND FINISH YOUR WORK INSTEAD OF CONSTANTLY GALLAVANTING WITH YOUR WENCH, I SWEAR YOU'RE IN FOR SOME KEELHAULING!"

Sans rolls his eyelight. "aye, cap'n!" he calls, dead-pan and irritated. Then he gets up and moves to leave. "we'll continue the conversation later, lassie."

Yet he continues to avoid it until weeks later.

###### 

You've both had too much grog--which you've discovered is apparently a more tolerable version of rum. 

Sans has had a rough day, evident by his drinking. You've come to be able to pick up on his moods, but he always plays it off when you attempt to pry. Your inhibitions are down enough that innocent joking and flirtatious smiles turn into touches--teasing and light at first, but then bolder, more exploratory. 

"careful, lass..." he warns, his voice a low growl. His forehead is against yours, his usual hat now tipped back on _your_ head. You've managed to completely unbutton his shirt, and your fingers are gingerly moving along his ribs, feeling over the grooves and ossifications from countless partially-healed fractures. 

"What? Am I going to 'awaken the kraken'?" you tease with a smirk, and you catch him off-guard enough that he makes a strangled choking sound before he starts chuckling.

"ok, that was a good one. yer jus' full o' surprises, ain'tcha?" His eyelight is much brighter than usual, his socket half-lidded as he hums when you hook your fingers around his sternum and start rubbing along the underside. "ye'know, ye got too many buttons still in-place. let ol' sans take care o' that." 

"What a gentleman," you continue to tease as he reaches out with both hands and abruptly tugs your shirt apart. The buttons pop off, jettisoning through the water. It's his shirt you're wearing (his slacks, too), so you don't mind the fact that he just ruined it. If anything, you find it to be a turn-on.

"aye, but i prefer the term 'swashbuckler.' in this case, i'm 'bout to _swash yer buckle_ aside." 

His fingers pointedly tug at the buckle of your belt, and you grin, letting your hands trail further down his ribs. Once they reach the bottom of his rib cage, you grow bold and lean in to touch his spine directly. Sans sucks in a sharp breath, and in the next moment... he's on you, pushing you back onto the mattress, his legs on either side of your hips. He kisses you, hard, and you grip his spine with both hands, your thumbnail pressing between the spaces of his vertebrae. 

You've gotten used to the fact that you're underwater by now. Thanks to the magic, you're able to keep from floating, and your clothing and hair don't billow much unless you're moving quickly. Actual liquid in cups doesn't mix with the ocean, and food stays on the plate. But when Sans presses you down that fast, his pirate hat flies off your head, your hair forms a curtain around his skull, and the whole moment feels... ethereal. Are you dreaming again? You chalk the light-headed feeling to the alcohol, and draw him closer. 

His tongue tangles with yours, and you can taste the spice of the rum and the smoke of his cigars. He presses his weight upon you, one hand hastily parting your shirt to palm your breast, while the other undid your pant and delved a hand beneath your trousers. 

He's skilled, drinking in your moans while you explore the length of his spine, down into his pelvis. A new bulge presses against your inner thigh, and you're pleasantly surprised that he actually has a boner. You begin to fumble down the front of his pants, eager to touch it as he's touching you, and as soon as your fingers grip the base of his shaft (it makes your palm tingle, and there seem to be studs lining the sides), he breaks the kiss in a growling groan. 

" _damn_. when i went to wet me pipe tonight, i didn't realize it'd be _that_ pipe," he marvels, blowing out a heady breath as you stroke the length of him and simultaneously free him from his slacks. "not that i'm complainin'." He lowers his sharp teeth to the side of your neck and lashes the hollow of your throat with his tongue. You rake your nails roughly along his spine in response, dragging a shuddering gasp from him that has him thrusting his hips into your hand. " _fuck._ i've wanted ye for too long."

Gods, you want him, too. You want to feel something other than the threat of your imminent demise hanging over you. You want to become intoxicated on his touch, to revel in the feeling of that studded arousal filling you completely and driving you toward your own personal nirvana. You want to forget your so-called fool's luck, and drink in his guttural moans instead. 

But you can't concentrate with that query still whispering in the back of your head.

"Sans." His name comes out on a moan when his fangs graze your collar bone, and you jerk your hips into his hand, plunging his fingers deeper inside you. He pumps his phalanges quicker, his other hand pinching your nipple, and you try to compose yourself and remember your question. "Sans, wait. Wait."

It takes a moment for the words to penetrate his lust-and-alcohol-induced haze, but when your hand stops pumping along his length, Sans finally lifts his head to meet your gaze. 

"somethin' the matter?"

"... Why am I still alive?"

You've asked the question countless times, and the exasperation of the timing shows on Sans's face. "avast, lassie! cease these pointless questions--or at the very least, ask 'em during a better time!"

"Please, Sans. When is there going to be a better time? You never answer me!" You're becoming frustrated, the mood shifting. Sans's hand leaves your breast, planting instead on the mattress beside your head. He still keeps his fingers within you, however, and they bend, hitting a spot that has your toes curling. As much as you want to give in, to tell him to forget it and resume, you meet his gaze evenly in challenge.

Finally, he sighs, seeming tired. "....yer soul."

You blink when he doesn't elaborate beyond that. "Isn't that why I should be dead? Because my SOUL will power the barrier?"

He shakes his head. 

"lassie, yer soul's singin' a siren's tune toward mine. can't ye feel it?" He pauses, and your stare is blank, confused. "no, i suppose not. but it means yer _mine_."

"But... the barrier..." You're not sure what he's talking about.

"the barrier be damned! i won't let 'em take yer soul, ye hear me? we'll jus' take one o' the others, those pitiful humans barely fit to be a swabber."

You should be horrified at the implications that someone else would fill your place... but you weren't that selfless. Instead, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were going to live, all because of something Sans felt within your SOUL. 

He called you his, and the possessive timbre to his voice sparked something within you all over again. His fingers resumed moving, and you arched your back, a wanton moan escaping past your lips. "W...why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"someone with a soul as bright as yers, choosin' a monster that took 'er from the surface? what're the chances o' that happenin'?" His grin is self-depreciating, even as you resume squirming on his hand. Your fingers find his length again, and you give it a firm pump.

"Pretty good considering I literally have you in the palm of my hand," you quip, and something in his expression finally relaxes. 

It's a flurry to divest one another of your pants, though he keeps his pulled halfway down his thighs, and you assume it's because he doesn't want his peg-leg on full display. 

As he moves to fill you, his fingers wrap around your throat and squeeze. It's just enough to make it difficult to draw a breath, but it heightens the feeling of his studded cock sheathing itself inside you. Slowly, he pulls back, allowing you the chance to feel every glorious stud drag along your walls... and then he plunges back inside. His fingers loosen, and you take in a deep breath.

He could kill you with that hand. He could snap your neck with ease or choke you until you pass out. 

But you know he won't. Despite the circumstances, you trust him completely. You'll put your life--and your SOUL--in his hands not because you don't have any other choice, but because you _want_ to be his. 

His pace picks up, and his fingers tighten around your neck again. You tilt back your head, meeting his lust-filled gaze with the same heat as you grip his spine. You like the pressure on your neck, and from the look on his face, you know he can tell. 

"yer all _mine_ ," he growls with a panting breath, and you gasp when the pressure eases up. Your free hand grabs the shackle around his throat and sharply pulls him forward, the crimson spark in his eye glowing even brighter.

"And you're _mine_ , Sans. Don't forget it."

His smirk is lascivious as he thrusts harder, deeper--filling you completely and drawing a much louder moan. 

"i'd sooner be a dead man than forget _that_ , lassie."


	10. Machine Fucking (Q/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Skelelodge (technically classic Undertale, but set in a universe where several AU skelebros have been brought together under one roof)  
>  **Timeline:** Surface; post-pacifist  
>  **Pairing:** Quarantine!Sans (Q) / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** the Landlady
> 
> *****Please note!** This prompt is set in what I like to call the Sinful Skeleton Squatters and the Lusty Landlady, otherwise known as S3L3. This is _not_ canon to SSLL, although the whole VR set-up is a sneak-peek at something that will be canon later on. 
> 
> Quarantine!Sans belongs to [Joliemariella](http://archiveofourown.org/users/joliemariella/pseuds/joliemariella). She's got her own kinktober one-shot with Q, so I definitely recommend checking it out!

There had been a shift in your dynamic with Q, but it had been so subtle that you couldn't pin-point the exact cause. 

It might have something to do with the late nights the two of you spent talking, Q's visage displayed on your TV while you laid across your bed and were gifted with little peeks into his world. It fascinated you, how much he was able to create with lines of data. There were scenes such as endlessly starry skies (though he didn't hold the bright nebulas in the same reverence as the other Sanses, he still found the scene aesthetically-pleasing), beaches with sugar sands set at perpetual sunset, and even major human cities recreated using satellite maps. 

Of course, the locales that interested you the most where the places Underground. His home in Snowdin, the caverns of Waterfall, the lava pools of Hotland -- getting a first-hand glimpse at what the Underground was like fascinated you, and Q was more than happy to give you the guided tour. 

But there were still plenty of nights when he stretched out on his bed or couch, and the two of you passed the time shooting questions back and forth until you ultimately fell asleep during a lull of companionable silence. 

It became a routine. You began looking forward to it every night, and a thrill always went through your chest when you saw his grin light up your phone or TV. You'd given him the green-light to turn on your PS4 camera whenever he switched over to the television, so that it would _almost_ feel as if you were speaking to him in person. 

And of course, there _was_ the fact that he claimed he was working on a way for you to visit his world. You knew him well enough to know that he didn't make those kind of claims idly, and each time you expressed a desire to visit him, to gaze upon the countless scenes he'd created in-person, he assured you he was making headway on just that endeavor. 

But then there were nights when your impatience began to rear its head, and you wished he was really there, lying beside you on your bed and peering up at the stars of your world through the skylight. You wanted to hear his quips directly in your ear, to feel his breath stir your hair as he leaned in close to murmur in the darkness. 

Those thoughts started off innocently enough, with you just wanting the same closeness that you indulged in with your other lodgemates, but they escalated one night when you called him to find him lying shirtless on his bed, pale ribs exposed in the dim light. It wasn't the first time you'd seen his bones on display during a call, but it had caught you off-guard enough that you stumbled over your greeting and his smirk widened. 

"heya peaches. if you're gonna stare, you might as well save a screenshot for later," he teased with a wink that had your insides fluttering. 

.... That was actually a great idea. 

"You're obviously just trying to seduce me, Q, but it'll take a little more effort than that," you retorted at the same time you squeezed the buttons on the side of your phone to screenshot the moment. 

Your fucking media volume was still on, and it made a loud shutter-click sound. 

Q paused in the middle of a rebuttal, his eyesockets going wide, and at the same time, you felt your heart bottom-out into your stomach. _Shit, shit, shiiiiit!_

"My hand slipped." Obvious excuse was obvious, especially when paired with the vibrant flush lighting up your features, but the words still tumbled out. Q's grin reached shit-eating levels as he flipped over on his bed, the camera he used to project himself onto your phone moving with him. He changed positions, propping his head up with his hand, his elbow bent against his pillow. His other hand slowly trailed over his ribs.

"uh huh," he sarcastically murmured with a quirked bone brow. "well, if your hand wants to 'slip' again, now's the perfect opportunity."

You decide to take it as a challenge and unabashedly take another screenshot. He breaks into laughter when you grin despite your obvious mortification, and you force yourself to shrug, hoping to convey much more nonchalance than you actually felt. "Okay, photo session aside... How was your day?"

You steered the call back onto the proper rails, and the rest of it went without further incident (although he would change positions every now and then and strike a very obvious pose that you refused to acknowledge).

You may have looked at those pictures for longer than you'd like to admit. You told yourself that you were just interested in spotting the subtle differences between his bones and the bones of your other lodgemates, but... you knew that wasn't the case.

You'd become interested in _him._

So you decided to test the waters -- quite literally.

You answered his call in the middle of a bubble bath. 

You were relaxing in the bigger of the lodge bathtubs after a long day, and you had plenty of suds built up, while your head rested against a folded towel on the back. Your phone started buzzing against the floor by the tub as Q called you at his usual time, and when you began to reach for it, you momentarily hesitated. 

Then you remembered the time he answered your call while he was floating in the inky waters of an area he had created to unwind in, and you decided this was basically the same thing. 

You dried your thumb on the towel by your head and then scooped up your phone, swiping to connect it. Smiling brightly, you greeted Q as soon as the video connected -- and his grin faltered, a bright blue flush lighting up his features as he processed the scene.

"shit, sorry. _ah_ , peaches, i can call you back at a better time. i--"

You interrupted him with a shake of your head. "I wouldn't have answered if it wasn't a good time. I'm just taking a moment to relax." You lean back, carefully holding your phone above the water. The bubbles shift as you move, and his eyelights are definitely drawn downward with the motion. His hand is halfway over his face, mostly covering his mouth, but you can still tell his face is _glowing._ However, you can't tell if that's a good sign or not, so you hurry to query, "Unless you're uncomfortable?"

He shook his head, his hand slowly dropping from his face. You couldn't read the tight smile stretched across his skull. "i'm a lot of things right now, peaches, but uncomfortable isn't one of them," he finally admitted, his voice lower than usual. You took it as a good sign and let it bolster your courage to shift again, pretending to be seeking a more comfortable position. 

"Really? Do tell," you pressed, feeling your heart hammering in your chest. Your gaze was half-lidded, face flushed with both embarrassment and the heat of the water. Hesitation creeped into his gaze as it searched yours, trying to gage how far to take this unusual flirtation. 

Then you watched as some of the blue dimmed and his smile became sly. "maybe i should take a screenshot of this myself. if you keep giving me that look, my hand might just slip." You laughed lightly, but before you could dare him to do it, he kept talking, steering the conversation into its familiar territory. "so... a steamy bubble bath, huh? rough day? wanna tell me about it?"

After that, you couldn't find the courage to draw the conversation back to the fact that you were naked beneath the water, and Q disconnected the call before you had a chance to get out of the tub, promising to resume the conversation in the loft. 

You tried to push the boundaries a little more after that. Occasionally, you'd change into your pajamas in front of him, right smack in the middle of conversation. The first time, he made a strangled sound, but you kept talking as if you didn't notice, and he didn't bring it up. 

But you did notice that after that, he talked about the possibility of bringing you into his world more often. There seemed to be a fire ignited, and he was determined to make it work.

And then, one night... instead of calling, he sent you a text. 

**Q-T :** _meet me in the lab at midnight._ (A peach emoji is included at the end)

###### 

You pad down the stairs of the basement in your pajamas, trying to be quiet and skip the creaky stair despite the fact that _this is your lodge._ You're not sure what Q has in store for you, but you have a feeling that he selected the late hour to ensure that the other skeletons wouldn't interfere. 

You head further into the lab, making a beeline for the area in the back that's been sectioned off as Q's quarters. The usually-secure door is ajar, so you slip inside and shut it behind you. A lock automatically clicks into place.

Your heart is thundering in your chest, but it's not from fear; it's from anticipation.

"Q?"

There's a section with several screens set above a desk, and toward the back is a long mechanical arm with a multi-functional tip that's been folded away. Q uses it to assist with the repairs in the machine, and also to tinker with a few things in your world. 

One of the desks has been cleared off, except for a helmet set on the middle. You're drawn to it, and tentatively, you pick it up, turning it over in your palms. It looks like an augmented VR headset, with several long, fiber cables tethered to the nearby processors. 

Suddenly, his image appears on the nearby set of screens. The scene behind him looks almost identical to the room you're currently standing in--the only missing components are you and the headset in your hands. He looks a little nervous, his smile cautious; it's not an expression you're used to seeing him wear.

"There you are!" you blurt, holding the helmet higher. "Q, is this what I think it is?"

"well hello to you, too," Q quips with a light chuckle and a shrug. "depends on what you think it is. if you're thinkin' a vr helmet that can theoretically bring an avatar version of yourself in here..." He pauses, stringing out the dramatic tension that has you grinning like an idiot and nodding. "then, the answer's _yes_." 

"Seriously? This'll work?" You're practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. 

He unlocks his hands from behind his back to spread them wide, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. " _should_ work. it's untested, but i've run the numbers a thousand times. it's safe, at least. just... don't get your hopes up too much, peaches. it may not do anything." 

It feels almost as if those words are more for his benefit than yours, but you can't help but enthusiastically nod and bring the helmet closer to your head. "Okay, I'll try not to be completely _crushed_ when nothing happens," you tease. "Do I just put it on or...?"

He nods, using a hand to bring up several window interfaces. You can hear something whirl to life inside the helmet, and you peek inside. The screen is still dark. "yeah, just try lying back on the desk there and put it on."

You quirk a brow. "I need to be lying down for this?"

"well, you won't be able to move if it does its job right. ever see the anime where the main guy gets trapped in a vr death game? well, i based the science on that."

You know the exact anime he's referencing and pause. "Wait, so if I happen to... I dunno, _die_ in your world..."

He shakes his head. "don't worry; that's impossible here. besides, i conveniently left out the 'microwaves obliterating your brain' part." His usual humor finally returned to his smile, and you relax and hop on the edge of the desk. It groans a little under your weight, but once you shift to the middle, it seems to be fine. 

"Okay, here goes nothing." Sucking in a deep breath, you slide the helmet on your head and lie back. The screen finally lights up in your vision, but it just reads _Initializing . . ._

There's a few start up commands that you go through, with Q's voice in your ear, telling you what to do. You move your arms and legs and see them move in front of your vision--even though you _know_ that your arms aren't moving in the real world because you didn't feel your hand smack the desk when you dropped it back to your side. The feeling is disorienting at first, but you quickly become accustomed. 

It seems to be building your virtual avatar. When you glance down in the vast white space, you find that you're even wearing the pajamas you had on when you descended into the basement. Well, that's... kind of embarrassing. If you had known you were going to be attempting to enter Q's world, you might have worn actual clothes instead of stretchy shorts and an over-sized T-shirt. And a bra. That might have been nice to wear in case you meet any of the monsters from his world. 

... You peek down the front of your shirt and find that your body's been perfectly replicated. 

"How the hell?" you blurt, unable to censor your surprise. 

"those bubbles didn't cover you as much as you thought they did."

Instead of Q's low timbre speaking at your ear, as it had been during the calibration commands, it comes from somewhere behind you. Startled, you spin around, and color abruptly fills the white void you had been standing in moments before. 

The sound of soft ocean waves surround you, and you actually _feel_ a breeze waft against your face. Everything is dark-- from the ebony sand to the inky water lapping at the small island you're standing on -- but the sky overhead is illuminated with ethereal turquoise hues, shades of emerald, and vibrant cyans. 

But what stands out most of all is the skeleton standing several feet before you, drinking in the sight of your expression as you marvel over the breathtaking view. You had expected to wind up in a replica of the lab, or at the very least his bedroom, but you should've known better. Of course he would blow your expectations out of the water and take you here first, to his private paradise. 

"heya peaches," he breathes quietly, his voice heavy with disbelief. "nice to finally meet you _in the flesh_ , so to speak, heh."

You take a step forward, then another. And then you abruptly lunge, hurling yourself forward to cross the distance, your arms outstretched. Q barely has time to move his arms and catch you -- but you _feel_ it! You feel his hands gripping your upper arms, steadying you. You feel his chest against yours, his scapulas shift beneath your fingers as you tighten your grip to embrace him. 

"Q," you manage through your constricted throat, your chest feeling tight. 

He seems to be having as much trouble as you are, though he tries to hide it behind a chuckle. "i can't believe it really worked," he admits, his voice still holding that low reverence. You pull back slightly to lock eyes with him. He's taller than you expected; he might even have an inch or two on Red. Your fingers brush the collar of his casual attire as you reach for his face, and you can feel just how soft the fabric is. You know you can't keep the wonderment from your expression as you feel the smooth bone of his face.

"I can _feel you._ How?" You're wide-eyed as you continue your exploration, and he seems to do the same, taking your wandering hands as an open invitation to mirror your touches. His bones are much smoother than the other skeletons'; they glide along your arms, make you shiver as they touch your neck, and cause you to tilt your head back when they frame your cheeks. 

"do you really want me to bore you with the science and technicalities right now?" His eyelights are intense, practically smoldering in his dark sockets. They hold your gaze, and the heat is magnetic; you feel your arms winding around his neck, drawing your body flush against his. 

"You know you never bore me." Your voice is practically a whisper. 

He half-scoffs, half-chuckles, still refusing to look away. "yeah, well... it took so long because i wanted to get it right. i wanted to bring you here. touch kinda goes _hand-in-hand_ with it."

"And you can feel me, too?" you prompt, even though you know the answer. He nods, though his hands start to shift down from your cheeks, coming to rest on your shoulders. He's hesitating again, some sort of indecision causing some of the fire to extinguish from his eyelights. Q sucks in a deep breath, and you can feel his cloaked ribs expand against your chest, and once again, you're hyperaware of the fact that you're not wearing a bra-- and that your breasts have been perfectly rendered. 

When he exhales, it's practically a quiet groan. "peaches... did you wanna check out the view? the first time you saw this place, you said you wanted to visit."

Your heart's hammering in your chest in the real world; you _know_ it is. Can he tell? Is he monitoring your heart-rate somewhere? Or is everything replicated so well that he can feel it beating through your avatar-self? You doubt it's that detailed, but you're nervous. You're so nervous, but hell...

You're just going to roll the dice and go for it.

"I'm more curious about just how much I can feel," you admit, and when surprise quickly flashes through his expression, you suddenly rock onto your tip-toes and press your lips to his teeth. He sucks in another sharp breath, caught off-guard by your bold move, but he quickly recovers, returning the kiss with a fervor. One arm snakes around your waist, dragging you flush with his body, while the other hand settles in line with your jaw, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. 

Your curiosity over whether or not he has a magical tongue of his own is quickly sated when it invades your mouth, dominating yours. It doesn't have a taste or the familiar magical tingle you've experienced from other skeletons, but the pressure is pleasing and it holds a certain heat to it that you weren't expecting. You take your time wrestling your tongue against his, and one of your hands balls into the front of his jacket, your thumb accidentally gripping the hard metal of his zipper.

You want to feel more of him. You grip the zipper and drag it down, allowing the jacket to open up. He isn't wearing a shirt underneath, so you slip your hand beneath the fabric and rub your fingers along the bumps of his ribs. 

He breaks the kiss with a gasp, his forehead pressing to yours. His white eyelights have constricted, but they're bright enough to cast a glow across your face -- or maybe that's actually the soft blue that's suddenly lit up his features.

"peaches," he rasps, his hands now gripping your hips. He shifts his body away from yours, just enough to put a couple of inches of space between the two of you, and holds you in place. 

You feel dazed, drunk off his kiss and starved for his touch after so many nights where you were left _craving_ him, yet separated by an entire world -- an entire _reality_. He's done the impossible and brought you to him, and you desperately want to take advantage of it. 

But are you moving too fast for him? From the eager way he dominated your mouth, you thought that you were both on the same page. 

Your fingers pause, halfway curled around a smooth rib. The gaps between them are actually too small for your fingers to fit, so you have the tips just barely wedged in-between. "Too much?" you breathlessly query, your voice quavering. He shakes his head, holding your gaze again. He's searching for something in your expression, but you're not sure what, and despite the intensity within those eyelights, his sockets are hooded and unreadable. 

"it's not that. it's..." His words peter off, his smile tightening. You're just about to withdraw your hand and step back with an awkward apology when his fingers abruptly dig into your hips and pull your pelvis flush with his again. Leaning in, his presses his mouth directly beside your ear. "it's just that we need a special location for this. why don't you let me _take you to the moon_?"

In the next moment, the world shifts. It feels similar to the others' 'shortcuts', but when the melded colors around you reform, you realize you're standing on a literal moon, surrounded by countless stars overhead. The vibrant planets you glimpsed from the island are now much closer, rotating and casting a sparkling aurora across the sky.

"Holy shit," you breathe, and Q flashes you a cocky grin. 

"oh, peaches, you haven't seen anything yet." 

And then he grips your chin and draws you in for another scorching kiss. If you hadn't just been gazing up at the stars, you'd definitely be seeing them right now. Your touch grows bolder, exploring the curves of his ribs, and reaching inside his ribcage to touch the anterior plane of his spine. He groans into your mouth, and this time, when he presses his pelvis to yours, you can fee a definite bulge there. 

Abruptly, you break the kiss to glance down. His pants are too dark to see any form of glow through them, but his opened jacket provides a view straight down into his pelvic girdle. There's a faint blue glow emitting from within. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. "You have a boner!" 

Your blunt exclamation makes him choke on whatever he was about to say. "heh, you sound surprised. isn't a _bone_ r fitting for a skeleton?" 

"It's just... I wasn't sure if skeletons, uh... had anything," you explain, pleasantly surprised. "Is it like your tongue?" A sudden thought crosses your mind. "Or did you make one like you made... this place." You gesture with your free hand toward the surrounding area, and Q gives you an incredulous look. 

"nah, i didn't make it like that... though i suppose i could augment it. it's just a magical thing -- standard skeleton monster stuff."

You're intrigued and curious to see if it looks like a regular human penis. Will it feel the same, too? Or will it feel like his tongue? You're dying to know, so you slowly let your hand trail down his spine and slip around the waistband of his pants. He grips your wrist, halting your exploration. 

"as much as i love the enthusiasm, peaches... there's no rush," he murmurs, before dropping his head to your neck. His teeth graze your skin there, leaving little love bites down to your clavicle, and your fingers ball into fists, your wandering hand still trapped within his hold. 

"I can't help it," you admit, your voice breathy as his other hand slips beneath the hem of your baggy shirt and slides along your side, dragging the fabric up with his arm. "I just want to touch as much of you as possible."

"the feeling's mutual, believe me," he responds, pressing toothy skeleton kisses along your jawline, before his tongue makes a sweep along your neck. You tilt your head to the side, providing better access, and suck in a sharp breath when his fingers ghost along the underside of your breast. "is it all right...?"

You understand the permission he wants, and you eagerly nod. You feel like you're burning up; you've been fantasizing about this for months now, during those lonely nights when you wished he was lying beside you. " _Please_ , Q."

He cannot deny you, not when your voice has taken on such a pleading tone. His palm cups your breast, squeezing and lifting it slightly, before his thumb rubs across your pert nipple. A soft moan tears past your lips, and you grip onto the side of his jacket. You didn't expect all of these sensations to feel so good; after all, this entire encounter is basically happening within your mind. But hell, if this is really just an elaborate sex dream, then you're fine with never waking up. 

Q finally releases your wrist so he can grip your shirt and pull back enough to yank it over your head. He carelessly tosses it into space, and it actually floats off, carried away into oblivion. You decide that he's still wearing too much clothing as well, and you take the opportunity to push his jacket away from his shoulders, and he takes his hands off you just long enough for it to hit the ground. With both of you now topless, you wind your arms around his neck and fervently kiss him again, lining your body with his. The grooves of his ribcage scrape against your sensitive breasts, and his soft groan turns into a growl. He kisses you with a passionate desperation, his prior thorough exploration of your mouth shifting into a _need_ to drink you in. 

His hands slide down the small of your back and firmly grip your ass, his fingertips bunching up the bottom of your shorts to graze bare cheek. The pressure rocks you forward, rolling your pelvis into his, the firmness in his pants pressing into the side of your hip. 

He breaks the kiss, and there's still a growl in the timbre of his voice when your lust-glazed eyes meet the embers smoldering within his sockets. 

"peaches, i'm about to make you _wet._ "

_You already have,_ you think, but before the words can actually form, the scene shifts again. The moon you were standing on melts away, and you feel a sudden weightlessness wash over you -- like the feeling you used to get on a swingset, on the apex of the swing, just before your momentum gives way to gravity. 

The down-swing feeling never comes, however; instead, Q squeezes your ass and water suddenly envelops both of you. As promised, you're now wet, and you hold your breath on instinct, your fingers gripping the thick bones of his upper arms. You're floating, your hair lifting from your head and flowing as you shift, and Q can't help but chuckle lightly.

"i wasn't tryin' to _take your breath away_. ok, maybe i was, but _breathe_ , peaches."

You comply, taking in a gasping breath -- only to find that the water doesn't rush into your lungs. You should've known; if you could breathe on the moon, you could breathe underwater.

"Show off," you tease with a wry grin that has him shrugging, that mischievous smile back in-place.

"guilty as charged."

Well, two can play at this game. A sudden idea forms, and you press your hands to his shoulders and push, using the weightless feeling of the water to force him backward. Your positions shift; Q's lying back, suspended in the water with his hands now on the sides of your hips, while you're floating above him, your feet hooked around the backs of his lower legs to keep your body properly tethered to his. 

There's an expression of wonderment on his face that has everything to do with the way the light cast from above the water is encircling your form, but you misread it as surprise at your bold initiative. 

"I wanna know what makes you feel good, Q," you murmur, your hands resuming their previous exploration. He shudders as you bring a finger deliberately along the body of his sternum, and then curl your fingers to rake your nails along the dips of his ribs. 

"you're-- _ah_ \--doing a pretty good job finding out," he responds, his sockets shuttered. You reach lower, gripping his spine again and rubbing your fingers purposely over the spinous processes in the back. He breathes out, bubbles rendering and rising around you. That seemed like a good reaction, so you grin and hook your legs tighter around his, drawing yourself down closer to his femurs. Your hand continues its slow, torturous exploration, moving lower along his spine, and slipping within his pelvis. Your fingers explore his sacrum, dipping into every divot, and then rise to trace the rim of his pelvis girdle. At the front, you feel a definite heat and something similar to a pulse.

Q's biting the lower prominence of his mouth, almost like worrying a bony lip. 

Your hand shifts around to the front of his pelvis, and he rasps your name -- your actual name, not a term of endearment -- when your fingers encircle the base of his magical member. 

His fingers dig into your hips momentarily, before his hands slide back around to your ass and squeeze it tight, kneading the virtual flesh. Continuing your curious exploration, you grip his shaft, finding it just girthy enough that your fingers don't quite touch. It twitches beneath your touch, so you drag your hand along the length, pulling it upward from his jeans to get a better feel of it. When you reach the bulbous head, your thumb traces the circumference, and you're pleasantly surprised that the anatomy's familiar. You can definitely work with this.

You stroke him again while your other hand fumbles with the button and zipper of his fly, all the while preoccupied with watching his face. When his cock springs free at last, you finally glance south, finding that it's the same color blue as his tongue -- and the delightful flush that's risen to his cheekbones. You shove his jeans down his femurs and unhook your legs long enough to let him kick free of his pants. They sink into the abyss below, but he doesn't even seem to notice. 

You start working him with languid strokes, slicking your thumb across the top of the head each time your hand rises. He shudders and groans, slightly bucking into your hand in an attempt to get you to pick up the tempo. You just tease him by going slower, taking your time, and leaning down to graze your teeth along the side of his neck. The position puts your ass in the air, and Q uses the opportunity to pull the leg of your stretchy shorts aside, his fingers slicking through your folds. You gasp against his neck and squeeze his cock, and he rewards you with another groaning growl directly beside your ear. Two of his fingers rub circles around your clit, while another delves just barely inside your entrance, providing a pressure that makes you rock your hips backward, trying to spear it deeper within you. He chuckles and decides to tease you, pulling his hand back so only the first knuckle is within you.

You want nothing more than to have him within you, filling you up and easing the fire that's ignites your nerves. You don't even think about how this isn't _really_ your body -- that you're actually lying on a desk in the basement wearing an augmented VR helmet. No, right now, this _is_ you. You can feel everything, his every touch, the heat of his erection twitching beneath your touch. 

And you want more.

"I want you, Q," you admit as you place an open-mouthed kiss along the edge of his jaw. He stops in the middle of teasing you, and you rock your hips against his hand.

"dammit if that isn't the sexiest thing i've ever heard," he claims, sounding as riled up as you feel. Abruptly, he withdraws his hands and grips the waistband of your shorts to rip them down your legs. You shift to kick them off just as he did his own pants and then reposition yourself, your hands coming to rest on his chest. One hand settles on your hip, pulling you toward him, and you re-lock your legs with his. 

He grips the base of his cock and guides it down, parting your folds with the tip. You can feel the heat of his magic against your bundle of nerves, and you try to buck against him, to get him to slide within you, to relieve the building pressure causing your core to _ache_ with need. His hand, however, tightens on the crest of your hip, keeping you in-place. The tables have turned; now he's the one reveling in your needy expression, and your fingers curl in the sides of his ribcage. 

"Q." His name carries your unspoken plea, and he shifts his arousal to rub a small, circular motion along your clit. Your hips jerk again, desperate.

And then he stops, and your half-lidded gaze flies open, a needy whimper escaping you. His expression, though still racked with desire, has turned soft. 

"if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?" 

The query catches you off-guard; you're exactly where you want to be. Your confusion must be obvious because he continues, "we've been to the moon and the stars, we're in the depths of the ocean now... i can take you almost anywhere. so where do you want to go?"

He's asking what would make your night the most special, you realize, and you flash him a tender smile. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his teeth, and murmur, "How about your bedroom?"

He leans his skull back to look at you in wide-eyed surprise. "we could have sex in the stars, or on top of the eiffel tower, and you want to go to my bedroom? it's not that i'm not willing, but... why there?"

You shrug and use his preoccupation as a chance to undulate your hips against his, moving to slide your folds along the length of his shaft. His breath hitches, and your smile turns triumphant. "You once told me it has the softest mattress ever. I'd like to find out for myself."

He chuckles, actually surprised you remembered that, and grips your hips again just as you had positioned yourself over the head of his arousal. "well, it's true. ok, peaches. prepare to be intimate on a cloud because that's how soft this mattress is."

"Are you going to take me to _Cloud Nine_?" you quip, and his grin widens. 

"did i ever tell you how perfect you are?" he murmurs, and the usual light teasing tone is gone from his voice. He abruptly leans forward, reversing your positions in the water so he's above you. At the same time, you feel the scene shift again. All the water drains, rushing around you with the thundering sound of a waterfall, but the two of you remain suspended. Your bodies are suddenly dry, and the colors change, burgundy walls surrounding you. In the next moment, your back hits and mattress, and... Q wasn't kidding. A surprised moan escapes you at just _how wonderful_ the mattress feels on your back. 

"custom-made," Q explains, and you hum in the back of your throat, sliding up enough that your head rests on his pillow. 

"This is heaven," you say on a sigh, and he grins, planting a hand beside your head. His other arm grips one of your thighs, directly it to settle on the crest of his hip. You take the hint and wrap both legs around him, lifting your hips to help line him up with your entrance. 

"dunno about heaven, but..." He presses the tip in just barely, and you gasp at the sensation of him finally beginning to stretch your inner walls. "...i can take you to nirvana."

You can't keep the grin off your face as you reach up and grab his neck, your fingers sliding between the bony prominences as you pull him toward you. "Take me, Q."

And with that, he couldn't hold back any longer. The teasing grin shifted, tightening as he mouth suddenly crashed onto yours, and he thrusted forward, instantly sheathing himself. There was no accompanying pain; no, all your virtual body felt was a pressure within and a pulsing pleasure. Though his shaft was hot, now that it's inside you, you can feel an electric tingle, one that awakens your nerves and makes it so you can feel every tantalizing inch of him moving within you. 

His tongue invades your mouth, mimicking the motions of your lower halves, and you tighten your legs around his spine, rising up to meet him with every thrust. You're holding onto him desperately, his mouth muffling your moans and incoherent, broken thoughts as he drives you closer to the promise land. Your breasts scrape against his ribs, and he winds both arms around you, one keeping your upper half flush with his, while the other grips your ass and pulls you closer, until your hips are flush with his and his sheathed entirely within you with every forward thrust. 

Q breaks the kiss to sink his teeth into your shoulder, causing you to gasp and moan and rake your fingernails along the back of his skull. His skeleton-kisses trail lower, and his arm moves beneath your back, forcing it to arch so he can capture your nipple between his teeth, his tongue lashing across the pert bud.

You're no longer even trying to quiet your moans, lost within the ecstasy he's bringing you. A voice whispers in the back of your mind that he probably lives with his brother, and the idea of a Papyrus bursting into the room almost makes you voice your concerns. Instead, you roll your hips harder against his, your breathing labored and shallow, and hope that your actual body is silent within the basement. 

Those trepidations aren't enough to slow your pace, and Q remains oblivious as he does all he can to make you a quivering, screaming mess. As his tongue swirls at your breast, and he gets just the right angle with his thrust, you feel yourself come undone, his walls spasming as you cling to his frame and ride out your orgasm. 

"Q... Q..." you moan, and his thrusts finally begin to slow as he works you through it. His gaze is intense as he watches you come apart, as if he's trying to preserve the moment in his memory. Every little movement within you feels exquisite, your nerves still hyper-alert. "Did you...?"

"not yet. wanted to make sure you did first," he admits, and you suck in a deep breath. You can feel that he's on the edge; his languid thrusts are more erratic now, losing their pacing, and his expression seems tighter. 

You plant your palm against his chest and suddenly push, rolling over and reversing your positions again. Your legs shift from around his hips to plant your knees on either side of them, but you're careful to make sure that your bodies remain joined. 

He sucks in a sharp breath, though the question in his gaze evaporates into pure heat when you start lifting and lowering your hips. He grips the sides of them, helping you set the pace, but you grasp his hands and then pin them beside his head on the mattress, lacing your fingers together. 

"Nuh uh uh," you tut, your grin absolutely wicked as you watch his back arch when you rotate your hips in a circle. "You just relax and let me do all the work."

"you know the whole _skipping out on work_ deal i...isn't really _my_ thing," he quips, he voice quavering when you rise slowly and then abruptly slam your hips into his. You can feel his cock twitching within you, and you have to squeeze his hips with your knees to keep him from bucking up to meet you.

Leaning over his supine form, you kiss along his jaw, still slowly moving your hips. "Mm, sure, but you look like you could use a break..." Your mouth trails down his neck, and you run your tongue along his clavicle. He gasps and squirms beneath you. "After all, you did such a wonderful job."

You take your time with him, your hands slipping down from his hands to his forearms as you moved down to kiss and lick his sternum. The position shift means that you can only take his head within you, but when you rotate your hips again, he lets out a long, salacious groan, his sockets lidded as he watches you. 

You work him up until he can't take it anymore; the moment your hands move from his arms, he grips your hips and bucks up off the mattress to sheath himself fully within you, his other hand cradling the back of your head. 

"you're so fucking beautiful." He breathes your name again and bends forward, coming off the mattress to kiss you, his tongue hungrily pushing past your lips. You're sitting in his lap now, using the give of the mattress to keep moving, and the position change had caused him to start hitting the perfect spot within you all over again. He reached between your bodies and fingered your sensitive clit, and that was enough to bring you to your second earth-shattering orgasm. You moaned loudly into his mouth, and he groaned just as loud, both of your breathing broken as you felt him pulse within you, gushing an electric heat and made you tingle. 

After you both slowly came down from your high, he fell backward onto his bed, cradling you against his chest, your lower halves still joined. Despite the fact that activities here don't actually drain your physical stamina, you're exhausted. Your cheek rests against Q's sternum as he idly finger-combs your hair, his other arm draped around your shoulders, keeping you close to him. 

"Holy shit," you manage, your arm tightening around his ribs. "That was..."

"indescribable," he finishes for you. His teeth press against the top of your head. "words just don't do it justice."

You hum your assent, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. You can feel yourself beginning to drift asleep from the post-coital bliss. Or maybe it has to do with the late hour. If you entered descended into the basement at midnight, it has to be at least three or four in the morning by now. The calibrations and start-up alone felt like they took at least an hour. 

"peaches..." You hear his voice directly beside your ear, and you hum again in answer, too tired to bother speaking. "peaches, hey... as much as i'd love for you to sleep here, with me... you need to log out and go up to the loft." The implications are obvious; he doesn't want the others to think you're missing and then find you, lying motionless and essentially hooked up to several processors in Q's portion of the lab.

"I don't wanna," you weakly protest, but you still open your eyes and blink several times, trying to urge your consciousness to fully return. "But _fiiiine._ How... how do I log out, anyway?" 

You hadn't even thought to ask. 

Q chuckles. "well... i can log you out manually, but i'd rather you log yourself out. you remember the anime, right?"

It takes you a moment to realize what he's talking about, but then you bring up your hand, extend two fingers and swipe down the air in front of you.

A menu pops up. There's several buttons there that you're curious to explore, but not while you're this tired. Instead, you find the Log Out button at the bottom of the menu, and shift to sit up slightly, propping yourself up with an elbow to look down at Q.

"I can come back here, right?" you voice quietly. This pleasant shift in your relationship isn't something you've defined; you'll leave that for another time, one when you're not so simultaneously exhausted and pleasantly satiated. 

His grin softens, and he draws you down for another long kiss, this one much gentler than the others. When he responds, you can feel his teeth move against your lips. "if you don't come back, i'm going to go insane... so, please. come see me as much as you want."

Your expression brightens, and you give him another peck on the teeth. "I will. Hell, I'll be back as soon as I can tomorrow. Maybe I can meet your brother, if he.... uh, didn't hear me tonight? In which case, I may have to avoid him for the rest of my life."

Q chuckles. "oh, all those wails of absolute rapture? yeeeahhh...." You feel your heart begin to plummet into your gut with mortification, and Q smirks. "nope. he didn't hear. my room's soundproofed, so don't worry."

"Oh, thank fuck," you breathe out in relief, and Q laughs all over again. You swat his chest. "That's not funny."

"the face you made was pretty hilarious," he insists, and you roll your eyes. You know you're only delaying the inevitable, but... you really don't want to leave. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, all right?" 

"i'll hold you to it, peaches."

"G'night."

"night."

Just as you press the log out button, he rolls his hips against you one last time and winks. The scene around you flicks off into darkness, and you raise a shaky arm to remove the helmet on your head, your sharp gasp sounding deafening among the whirl of computer servers in the basement. 

Despite the rigorous lovemaking you just experienced, your body isn't sore. You suppose that's one of the major perks of VR sex. 

Your shorts, however, are absolutely soaked, and when you slide off the desk, you find that you're practically dripping down your legs. 

You hurry back to the loft and hope with all your might that all of your other lodgemates are still asleep.


	11. Gagging (Edge/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Underfell  
>  **Timeline:** Surface  
>  **Pairing:** Underfell Papyrus (Edge) / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Ambiguous
> 
> *Oh look, I finally did one that's short enough to be considered a proper drabble. Edge technically already had a full sin scene, so this one's practically just a blowjob.

Sometimes, it was better when Papyrus didn't talk. 

Your fingers trailed along the inside of his femurs as you laid between his legs, peering up at him with a wicked grin. The position gave you a clear view of his enormous, bright red arousal, standing at attention. The underside was studded with gold, and it twitched with anticipation as you leaned in, your breath ghosting the heated concentrated magic. 

A muffled groan came from behind the fabric you had wound between his jaw and tied behind his skull. Similarly, you'd used some of his spare belts to cinch his arms above his head, bound to the headboard. It left him quivering underneath you, watching you with a cautious intensity burning in his constricted eyelights. 

You weren't a fool; you knew that whatever control you had at the moment was only because he allowed you to have it. Papyrus was the strongest monster you knew; if you did anything that he didn't like -- or if he grew too impatient -- he'd easily bite through the gag and rip free of the belts to stop you. 

No, the restraints and the gag were more just a reminder to him of your little game. You'd asked him for the opportunity to turn the tides and be the dominant one, and he'd surprised you by saying "VERY WELL." You started off meek despite your determination to please him; your exploration of his body had been slow, your touch far too light for his likening. He had ended up barking out instructions and trying to touch you instead, so you had pulled away long enough to come up with a solution. 

And so far, it seemed to be doing the job.

His hips jerked as your tongue slid out to slide across the underside of his length, the convex surface of his studs a cool, stark contrast to the heat of his magic. It was so concentrated here, in such a solid form, that it made your lips numb. He made another muffled sound, and you glanced up at him through your lashes to see his arms jerk against their restraints. 

He was being impatient again. 

You decided to compromise and give him part of what he wanted. Your lips parted around his bulbous head, and you took his length slowly into your mouth, your teeth purposely grazing over the little round piercings. You relaxed your throat, trying to take him as deep as you could without gagging (he'd made your eyes water on more than one occasion with his girth and length, but you'd gotten better with practice), and swept your tongue along the underside. When you pulled back, your hand worked the portion of his cock that wasn't in your mouth, and you glanced up again, smirking around the tip. 

He was still watching you with that same intensity, but the gag was more strained between his teeth. You moved your free hand to his sacrum, running your nail along the divots dotting the surface, and he groaned. You brought your mouth down on him again and retreated, beginning to set a slow, unhurried pace, while your fingers moved down to his coccyx and encircled it. You'd always wondered what would happen if you gripped it while you--

Papyrus cuts that thought off by jerking his hips upward, effectively gagging you with his dick. Your eyes water, and you make a terrible, muffled sound. You pull back, his magical member freed from your mouth with an audible _pop_. 

"Shit. Careful... Captain," you warned, you tone taking on a sly tone that had him mumbling beneath the gag. "Shhh, just let me take care of you, all right?"

You leaned down and kissed his spine, raking your teeth along the spaces between. Your hand picked up the void left by your mouth, your saliva and his pre-cum providing adequate lubrication to have his bones rattling beneath your touch. Your opposite hand had moved from his sacrum, to the inside of his ribcage, rubbing along the sensitive undersides of his ribs. 

The next time you glanced up at him, his eyelights were bright embers and his face was pleasantly flushed with magic. You'd heard some jingling of the belts and been too preoccupied, however, to notice that he had freed his arms. In the next moment, he pulled the scarf from his mouth and reached for you, rolling to flip you over and reverse your positions. 

"Hey! No fair!" you cried in protest, but your lover simply smirked, grabbing your legs and hooking them over his shoulders. Lifting your hips halfway off the mattress, he delved his head between your legs, and you let out a sudden, unexpected moan. Your fingers clenched in the sheets, and he pulled back enough to glance up at you, his grin exuding full confidence -- and a promise.

"CAREFUL, HUMAN," he repeated your words back to you. "TURNABOUT IS FAIR PLAY, AND IF YOU DON'T BE QUIET... I MAY HAVE TO GAG YOU."


	12. Master/Pet (Blackberry/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Swapfell  
>  **Timeline:** Underground  
>  **Pairing:** Swapfell Sans (Blackberry) / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** BPT!Reader; vagina and breasts mentioned
> 
> *Alternate take on the shed scene from Broken Promises and Timelines.   
> Whisper, if you see this--I told you I have a weird thing for that damn dog bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be playing a bit of catch-up, so the chapters are going to be a bit shorter.

"ARE YOU AWAKE?"

The boisterous tone drew you from your uneasy slumber instantly, inciting you to jar straight-up in the oversized dog bed you'd been curled up on. You almost knocked over the glass of water that had been set next to it when you spotted two bright blue eyelights observing you in the darkness. 

Had Sans come into the shed's cage and decided to watch you sleep? Or was he just having trouble sleeping himself, so he decided to wake you for another round of regaling you with his farfetched feats?

Either way, you carefully repositioned yourself in the dog bed, resting your back against the wall. You could see Sans's gaze flicker to your legs, watching your sweater dress ride up your thighs -- and that the tears in those tights exposed your skin. Papyrus had been kind enough to heal your wounds behind Sans's back (the razor-wire netting you'd been captured in upon arriving in this timeline did a number on you), but the tiny tyrant hadn't seemed to take notice of that yet. 

Or, rather... his attention was enraptured elsewhere. 

You'd noticed his thirst from the beginning. Sans was obviously touch-starved, and he misinterpreted every bit of your physical contact as you being a _WANTON MISTRESS OF THE NIGHT_ that was very much _ON A MISSION TO SEDUCE THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD_. 

He'd been easy enough to convince not to take you to the Capital; you stroked his ego and told him fantastical tales about the Surface world. You knew this timeline wasn't permanent, that in a place like this, it was only a matter of time before you were killed and forced to **RESET**. 

But you also were terrified of the worsening state of your **RESET** option. You wanted help with it, and you couldn't get it stuck in the shed. The easiest way would be to attain your freedom through Sans -- to earn his trust and protection.

Besides... his domineering act was actually a turn-on to you, being treated like a literal dog aside.

"What is it, Sans?" you inquire, your voice still groggy with sleep. The skeleton narrows his eyesockets and suddenly reaches out, grasping you by the front of the collar around your neck and jerking you forward.

"WHAT WAS THAT _PET_?"

Shit, you called him Sans. Well... you're wide awake now. 

"Master," you hurriedly correct, and he loosens his hold on your collar, no longer hurting your neck. His finger remains hooked at your throat, however, the tip of his phalange tracing the delicate line of your clavicle. He hums his approval. "Do you need something?"

"I WAS THINKING ABOUT HOW I CARE FOR YOU. I'VE DONE AN AMAZING JOB PROVIDING FOR A HUMAN, HAVE I NOT?"

Where is he going with this? Cautiously, you nod. "Yes... you have. Today's burrito was delicious." You'd actually tricked him into making one without glitter, which made his meal edible. Papyrus, however, got the short end of the stick and ended up having to eat the one originally meant for you. You're fairly certain he drenched it in barbecue sauce.

Sans's smirk widens. "AND I SWITCHED OUT THE DOG BOWL FOR A GLASS INSTEAD... BUT THERE'S SOMETHING ELSE YOU WANT, ISN'T THERE? SOMETHING YOU LONG FOR THAT YOU'RE TOO FRIGHTENED TO REQUEST."

The corner of your mouth twitches. You know where this is going. Demurely, you look up at him through your lashes. "...What do you think that is, Master?"

He scoffs lightly, his thumb flicking over the bone tag on your collar that marks you as _his_ property in this world. "WHY, THE THING YOU DESIRE MOST IN THIS WORLD. THE ENTIRE REASON YOU DESCENDED UNDERGROUND IN THE FIRST PLACE!" He leans in, his eyelights a dark blue that lights illuminates his orbital rim. His warm breath ghosts your lips as he continues, " _ME._ "

And then you bite the bullet and kiss him. His fangs are probing against your lips, biting into them with a novice ferocity. The slight, stinging pain actually feels good, and you breathe in deep, placing a hand on his upper arm to steady yourself. As he conjures a tongue to slip into your mouth, his hand drops from your collar. He grips your sweater dress, balling the fabric in both fists, and then... proceeds to rip it right down the middle. 

You break the kiss with a soft gasp. Your poor dress never fairs well in the timelines. He roughly tugs your bra down by the middle of it, which causes the cups to flip down and the underwire to lift your breasts upward. He smirks appreciatively, palming one of them. The rough scrape of bone against your nipple has your back arching, and you sharply inhale. 

"I WANT TO FEEL HOW MUCH YOU WANT ME, PET!" His voice is a deep growl, and his eyelights are constricted pinpricks boring into you, drinking in the sight of your exposed flesh. Sans slips a hand beneath your tights and his fingers slick through your folds, finding you embarrassingly wet already. The power play turns you on more than you'd like to admit, and now it's quite obvious. Sans's eyesockets widen fractionally before he amends his slip with a smirk of utter triumph. 

"YOU'RE DRIPPING, PET! I... I MEAN, OF COURSE YOU ARE! JUST AS I EXPECTED!"

The finger that plunges within you is inexperienced; it pumps in jerky motions and seems to be more interested in exploring you than pleasuring you, but it feels good all the same. You buck your hips, attempting to guide him into a better position, but he just shifts onto the dog bed, planting his kneecap against the crest of your hip to still it. 

"LEARN PATIENCE, PET. YOUR MASTER _WAS_ GOING TO MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD, BUT..." His voice trails, and he stills his phalange within you. You have to fight back the frustrated whine that threatens to build; the urge to jerk your hips against his hand is even more difficult to control now. "INSTEAD... YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE YOUR MASTER FEEL GOOD!"

You're confused a little when he begins coaxing you from the dog bed. "STRIP," he commands, and you waste no time toeing off your boots and peeling away your damp, torn leggings. Reaching behind your back, you're able to unhook your bra and let it hit the dirty floorboards of the shed with the rest of your clothes. You leave your socks on, and Sans thankfully doesn't protest. 

Sans changes positions, lying on his back within the fluffy dog bed you were just occupying. He shimmies his pants down the crests of his hips, and his magical erection springs free. It's girthy and a dark navy, already slick with pre-cum. Apparently, the master/pet play really gets him going as well--although you already knew he was touch-starved from the moment he captured you.

"Would you like me to ride you, Master?" 

His eyelights light up at the proposition, but he manages to keep his cool. "YES, PET! VERY GOOD DEDUCTION." A bone brow arches. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GO ON."

You straddle your boisterous master, and he watches with rapt attention as you slowly sink down upon him, taking his dick deep inside you. His magic crackles, causing you to gasp, and when he's completely hilted, you realize that he's gripping the edges of the dog bed so hard that he's ripped it. 

You end up giving Sans quite the ride. You move, slowly at first, letting him urge you on with commands of "FASTER!" and "HARDER, MY PET!" You work your hands along his spine and the inside of his ribcage, and he grabs you by the collar and jerks you down so he can roughly kiss you. His teeth end up buried in your shoulder as he muffles his sounds (it turns out that he's incredibly vocal with his moans of ecstasy), and the mixture of pain and pleasure only spurs you to work harder to draw more reactions from him.

By the end of it, his bones are rattling, his commands are fragments of thoughts riding out on shuddering breaths, and he's clutching your hips, frantically trying to remain in control. 

From the look of his spent form afterward, sprawled across the dog bed and clutching your sweaty form to his chest, you have to wonder who's _really_ the pet here. 

"Did you enjoy the ride, Master?"

There's a satisfied smirk in your voice. Sans breaths out heavily, threading his fingers into your hair. 

"GOOD GIRL. GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES, AND I'LL BE READY FOR ROUND TWO."

True to his word, five minutes later, he fucks you so hard that the doggie bed slides to the other end of the shed.


	13. Stockings (Rus/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Swapfell  
>  **Timeline:** Surface; Post-pacifist  
>  **Pairing:** Swapfell Papyrus (Rus) / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Has a vagina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, today is Day 26, which means this is on time. I decided to skip to it despite being so behind on the rest of the prompts because today is special!  
> Today is the birthday of the bone-print stocking anon from the tortoise-partytime parties I've done in the past! The entire reason I chose Rus for this prompt was because of them, so when I found out the prompt was slated for their birthday, I _had_ to get it posted today. 
> 
> So, happy birthday, rolling-in the-undertale! I hope it's a great day for you. <3
> 
> ( _And yes, I'll go back to the other prompts. I'm going to do all of them, even if it takes me into the beginning of November to finish._ )

“and here i thought it was _your_ birthday.”

Papyrus quietly closed his bedroom door behind him, and the sound of the lock clicking into place in the quiet house almost made him wince. He had gone downstairs to check the rest of the house and make _absolutely certain_ his brother was in bed. That had meant leaving you alone in his bedroom, but obviously, you had found a way to occupy yourself. 

You grinned, looking at him upside-down. You were lying on his mattress with your head near the foot of his bed and your legs poised upward, heels resting on the top of his simple, metal bed frame. You had helped yourself to his jacket (he’d taken it off when he first brought you upstairs, tipsy and ravaging your mouth with his, desperately pulling at your clothes while you tore his jacket off his shoulders) and now had it draped across your body. It was unzipped, but positioned so it just barely concealed the most private portions of your body. 

And, of course, the thigh-high stockings he loved so much were clearly visibly on your legs, the outline of a tibia and fibula imprinted on the sheer material. 

“It is. But that doesn’t mean you can’t unwrap a gift of your own, right?” You quirk a brow in a challenge, and run your hands down the edges of the jacket’s zipper. His eyelights followed the motion with a raw intensity that belied his casual smirk.

“ _damn_ , darlin’...” He stepped closer, his steps unhurried as he drank in the sight of you, ingraining it in his memory. He looked almost awe-struck, as if he was sudden cautious of touching you. But that couldn’t be it. He’d had no problems putting his hands all over you at the party--but of course, you’d come there with the mission to seduce him. You knew he had a thing for thigh-highs--he indulged that information while drunk at the last social gathering--so you’d purposely searched for appropriate bone-printed ones for the occasion. 

And the fact that the next party happened to be one for your birthday was just icing on the cake.

“Well?” you prompted, twisting on the bed to set a foot against his chest. He cradled your ankle in his hand, his gaze finally lifting to your own. “Are you going to finish what you started, Rus?”

There was suddenly a heat in his eyelights that ignited a fire in your loins. 

"ya'know... you're always bringin' those sweet treats to the parties..." His baritone voice was a low growl as he brought your heel up to his shoulder and slowly sank to his knees on the worn carpet, forcing your knee to bend to compensate. You propped yourself up on your elbows, his jacket parting from your hips to reveal your favorite pair of underwear--a deep purple, just like the smoke that curled around him during your long talks outside the house, staring up at the stars. 

You could feel the rough scrape of his bone snag the delicate material of your tights as Papyrus's slender phalanges ran across the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitched in your throat as he leaned forward, his hand sliding dangerously close to your concealed core... and then skirting around to your hip at the last possible second. You had to bite your lip to stifle your groan of disappointment.

"Papyrus." His name rode out on a breathless sigh with a hint of desperation that had his grin quirking upward. 

He continued on as if you hadn't spoken, "and while i love somethin' sweet... i'm really more of a _savory_ guy." Papyrus gripped the waistband of your indigo underwear with both hands and abruptly jerks them down your legs. He had to lift your heel from where it's hooked over your shoulder to free you, but once he does, he slings the fabric carelessly to the side. You don't even notice it land on his lampshade; you're too focused on his hungry gaze, your face flushing suddenly as you feel cool air against your heated folds. He's never seen you naked before, but from his smirk, you know he isn't disappointed.

Fluidly, he pulled both your legs over his shoulders to scoot you to the very edge of the mattress. "let's find out how _you_ taste, hmm?"

Before you have time to process any lingering abashment at the close encounter of his face and the most intimate part of you, his tongue suddenly lashed out, slicking through your folds. You were already soaking, and he eagerly took the opportunity to savor the taste, flattening his tongue in broad strokes and flicking the tip against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Automatically, you clutched the mattress, trying to ball what you can in your fingers and desperately wishing his sheets weren't a tangled mess at the foot of his bed. His tongue was electric; the magic hummed against you, sending little tingling waves up your body that had you gasping and moaning. 

"don't wake m'lord," he murmured, the words garbled by your flesh as he presses his face more firmly against you, using his upper arms to spread your legs and angle your hips upward. His fangs prodded into your sensitive skin, but combined with the feeling of his tongue, you can't help but moan again. Trying to muffle the sound, you grabbed his pillow and held it over your mouth, hoping to block his intense stare as well. You knew the face you were making was obscene, your mouth perpetually open in a gasp, eyes glazed, and chest heaving. His jacket had fallen to the sides, spread wide open to leave your entire body on display at this point, but you didn't care. 

His tongue delved inside you, much longer than any human's tongue and undulating in a manner that caused you to bite the pillow to muffle a wanton moan. Suddenly, the fluffy object was ripped from your fingers and slung away, causing you to glance back down at Papyrus. 

He retracted his tongue long enough to murmur against your thigh, "as much as i love that you're a pillow biter, darlin'... i wanna see yer gorgeous eyes watchin' me as i drive ya wild." His fangs grazed your skin with every syllable, and you found your hips jerking from both a desire for more and a ticklish feeling. If only he was biting harder...

"If I can't bite the pillow, then you can at least bite me," you blurted, blood automatically rushing to your face. His bony brows raised, and then he chuckled, puffs of heat from his breath hitting your saliva-soaked center and making your legs quiver. 

"too _vanilla_ for your birthday cake, huh? heh, well... i can oblige." 

With that, he nipped your inner thigh, and you gasp, a shudder of pleasure causing you to throb with want. Papyrus worked his way close, nipping and turning his jaw to graze the points of his fangs along you. His tongue filled you up again, writhing inside, and you bit your lower lip as you attempted to mute the sound. It was too much; you were too aroused, his magic felt too good. You clenched your knees against the sides of his skull, holding him in place, and rocked against his teeth, yearning to take him in as deep as possible.

" _P-papyrus_!" You moaned his name, closing in on the precipice of your climax. You were so close--!

And then he grabbed your lower legs and pried them away from his head so he could pull back. This time, you couldn't stifle your disappointed gasp, or the following groan of disapproval. Papyrus slowly licked your arousal from his teeth, carefully going over each pointed edge with the tip of his softly-glowing, orange tongue. 

"I was almost there," you insisted, quite aware of the whine in your tone. Papyrus smirked, releasing your legs and suddenly crawling over your body. One hand planted beside your head, his weight causing the worn mattress springs to dip to one side.

"hmmm, sorry. i had no idea," he claimed in a flat tone that didn't hold an ounce of truth. Your frustration was eased, however, when the coarse bones of his fingers suddenly replaced his tongue, teasing the juncture of your thighs and just barely slipping within you. A shuddering moan escaped you, and you grasped the front of Papyrus's sweater. 

"C'mon, Rus. I want _you_ ," you pleaded, the last word riding out on a loud gasp. 

“shhhhh.”

Papyrus muffled your plea with his mouth, his fangs pressing into your lips and inciting you to wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing your body in line with his. He was wearing too much clothing, you suddenly thought, and proceeded to ball up his sweater in your hands to yank it over his head. He broke the kiss just long enough to allow you to do so, but quickly resumed his position, his tongue dominating yours. You could taste the airiness of his magic, coupled with your arousal. You wondered if he'd consider it to be the savory taste he claimed to love. 

Your fingers curled around the edges of his scapula, while the other hand raked across the bumps of his spine. He growled, kissing you harder, with more of that hungry intensity. His fangs dug into your bottom lip, coaxing another moan from the back of your throat, and he shifted his weight onto his elbow so he could tangle his fingers in your hair. Papyrus pulled the hair at the nape of your neck, urging your head backward to deepen the kiss, and you clung to him with the same desperation while rocking your hips against his palm. 

Still, it wasn't enough; you wanted all of him.

One of your hands wedged between your bodies to cup the front of his tight jeans. The fly of his pants was even tighter, straining with the bulge tented beneath the denim. You could feel the heat there, see the faint glow when you peered down your lashes through his ribcage, where you could see the curve of his pelvis. 

You squeezed that glowing bulge, and Papyrus groaned into the kiss, the sound turning into a growl halfway. You began fumbling with the button, but couldn't quite get it undone; it kept slipping and refusing to go through the hole. Fed up, you decided to take a different approach and simply reached down the front of his pants from above, your hand sliding along his pelvis girdle, massaging the symphysis pubis where you could feel the concentrated heat of his magic coalescing on the other side.

His phalanges picked up the pace, pumping in and out of you quicker, curling to hit just the right spot. The squelch of your arousal against his fingers seemed so loud in the quiet room, but it only spurred Papyrus on. He broke the kiss again with a shuddering gasp and pulled back from your touch. You were about to protest again, but he made quick work of the button and zipper of his pants and shoved them down his thighs. His magical shaft sprung to attention, glowing the same orange as his tongue. The length was as intimidating as the girth at the base, but you had to admit, you were intrigued by the side of a piercing at the tip and a golden stud on either side, just below the bulbous head. 

It took you a moment to realize you were staring, and when you quickly amended that by dragging your gaze to his, you found him hesitating as he had before. His expression was hooded--you couldn't tell what was going on in his head--but you almost thought he was gazing at you with some sort of awed reverence.

Still, his hesitation stung. Was he having second thoughts? You decided to voice your concerns as a joke. "Are you getting cold feet?" you whispered, your teasing grin lop-sided. 

Papyrus snapped back into reality with a shake of his head and gripped your ankle with one hand, the other loosely holding the base of his hard cock. "not a chance. though... you might, so ya should probably keep these on. jus' in case." He winked, lifting your leg to nip the tights-- and subsequently puncture a tear in them. Before you could lament your ruined seduction attire, he positioned your leg over his elbow and leaned forward, guiding his magical member to your entrance. He eased his way inside, careful to go slow despite your wetness; his magic stretched you, filling you completely and causing sparks of static to radiate from your core. 

" _ahhh_ , shit. darlin', you're so tight. so hot," he growled as he pulled back and gave a shallow thrust forward, pushing himself further onto the bed in the process. Your back slid across the bare mattress, and you angled your body toward the headboard to accommodate him. Papyrus set into a steady rhythm, pulling back and sinking in deep, but the motion caused the worn springs to creak with each give. It seemed louder than any of the moans he had tried to hush earlier.

You bit your lip, reaching out to curl your fingers around his ribs and hang on. It was difficult to keep your sounds quiet when his phallus was literally giving you a magical ride. "R-...Rus, the bed..." you managed between gasps and pleasurable mewls. 

He grunted, pressing his forehead to yours. "what about it? hurtin' your back?"

You shook your head slightly. "No... Your brother. Aren't we... _ahh_... su-supposed to be quiet?"

Papyrus gave a couple of harder thrusts at that, lifting his head to listen for the creak of the springs. Sans would flip a table if he found out Papyrus had brought home someone from a party, especially given how quickly he had jumped at the chance to jump _you_. His brother was protective that way, but short-sighted. 

No, Sans didn't realize how long Papyrus had wanted this -- with _you._

"fuck 'em," Papyrus finally growled, surprising you with the ferocity in his eyelights. He wanted you, and he wasn't about to let anything put a damper on this night. In the next moment, he shifted, moving your legs over his shoulders and then leaning in again, pushing your knees toward your chest. The new position gave him an amazing view of your legs, while allowing him to reach even deeper inside you.

You could feel the piercing on the tip of his cock moving inside you, while the round, protruding stud massaged you from within. The metal provided a stark, cool contrast to the heat of his magic, and you gyrated your hips when he fully sheathed himself to feel them move up and down within you. He kissed you again, his fangs probing, his tongue tangling and dominating yours before mimicking the motions of his lower half. His bones caught on your stockings--they were bound to be even more ripped up before the night was over-- but you knew you'd keep them as a reminder of this night. 

The phalanges of one hand dipped below the band of your thigh-highs to stroke the soft flesh of your leg, while his other hand delved into your hair again. This time, he pulled it, breaking the kiss to urge your head to the side so he could lavish your neck with his tongue and fangs. He bit the juncture of your shoulder and neck, and you clenched your fingers around his clavicles, squeezing as you gasped and moaned. By now, the metal headboard was whacking against the wall, and the creaking springs were a dead giveaway as to your particular activities, but you barely even noticed. Instead, you were consumed by him, writhing beneath his touch, urging him to go faster, deeper, harder. 

His tongue swirled across another love bite, and you finally came undone, shuddering in his gasp as your inner walls spasmed around shaft. You could feel that drive him over the edge, too, his thrusts becoming erratic, and a definite heat suddenly filling you up. Still, he kept moving in slow, languid strokes, working you through your orgasm while extending his own, yet pulling back enough to allow your legs to wind around his hips. 

Sure enough, your thigh-highs were wrecked, but you didn't mind given the outcome. You laid back on his mattress, spent, the fluffy hood of his jacket providing an adequate pillow given the fact that he'd tossed the actual pillow into the floor. 

Papyrus slowly eased out of you, his magic dispelling and leaving you empty. He was giving you that look again, as if he couldn't believe what just happened. He zipped up his pants and then reached out toward you, cradling your cheek in his palm with a surprisingly gentle touch.

"darlin'... that was..."

Loud, irritable stomps come from down the hall, and Papyrus suddenly curses. You're still bare from the waist down, but he jerks his jacket tight around your torso and then snatches the giant ball of covers from the floor and dumps them on top of you. You begin to protest, but he leans his elbow against the sheets, and you relent when there's loud banging at the door. 

"MUTT! I CAN'T SLEEP WITH ALL THAT RACKET!! WHY THE HELL DID YOU LOCK THE DOOR? WHO DO YOU HAVE IN THERE WITH YOU?!"

Sans's voice is muffled behind the wood, but you hear the lock click and he suddenly bursts inside. There's a moment of silence while he searched the room, expecting to find someone with his brother. However, he came up empty. 

Sans narrowed his eyesockets at Papyrus. "WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?"

"sorry, m'lord. i was... uh, exercisin'."

You could hear the smug tone in Papyrus's voice, like it's an inside joke. Sans didn't seem pleased, but he curtly nodded. "WELL, KEEP IT DOWN AND LET ME SLEEP!"

"will do, m'lord."

You thought that you heard Sans's retreating footfalls, but it seems that he pauses in the doorway. "BY THE WAY..." His voice is suddenly quite smug. "TELL YOUR HUMAN HAPPY BIRTHDAY... AND THAT THEIR UNDERWEAR IS HANGING FROM YOUR LAMP."

You heard Papyrus make a strangled sound, and your face is _burning._

"WHAT? DID YOU THINK I'M IGNORANT? MWEH HEH HEH, NOT A CHANCE! THE WALLS ARE MUCH THINNER THAN YOU THINK, BROTHER!"

And with that, he slammed the door behind him. 

Slowly, you peeked your head from the covers, beyond mortified. 

Papyrus started laughing and slips an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side.

"m'lord says happy birthday."


	14. Threesome (Red/Stretch/the Landlady)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Skelelodge (technically classic Undertale, but set in a universe where several AU skelebros have been brought together under one roof)  
>  **Timeline:** Surface; post-pacifist  
>  **Pairing:** Underfell Sans/ Reader / Underswap Papyrus  
>  **Reader type:** the Landlady; has a vagina
> 
> *honeymustard sandwich ahoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Please note! This prompt is set in what I like to call the Sinful Skeleton Squatters and the Lusty Landlady, otherwise known as S3L3. For those of you that haven't read my other fic, Skeleton Squatters and the Landlady, you should still be good to read this sin. This is not canon to SSLL.
> 
> However, in SSLL's Freedom Day chapter, the Lady referenced having a strange dream she couldn't quite remember... ;D
> 
> So, technically, this chapter takes place at the end of SSLL Chapter 17, as referenced with her already in Red's room. 
> 
> **keywords:** threesome, collar play, biting, double-penetration

The fur of Red's jacket tickles your cheek as you lean against his shoulder, your fingers laced with his. 

"let's stay like this a lil' longer, ok... sweetheart?"

You smile, closing your eyes and letting your frazzled nerves finally relax.

"Okay."

You finally mended things with Red after the Axe debacle--and kiss--and it feels like a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You've always been close to Red, finding comfort in his easy physical touches and flirtatious jokes, so being able to be near him again makes you feel relaxed. Communication is the most important aspect here; the fact that you were able to talk about the awkward tension between the two of you and work past it spoke volumes for how _different_ Red is from your ex.

You hear the bedroom door start to squeak open, and you automatically flinch, lifting your head up from his shoulder. It's a reaction you haven't been able to break since your time with your ex, back when you'd get caught laughing or "sitting too close" to a male friend, and not hear the end of it for the better half of a week. 

Red squeezes your hand, refusing to let go.

"hey." Stretch meanders inside, closing the door behind him with his foot, both of his hands buried in his hoodie's pockets. His eyelights sweep over the two of you, sitting on Red's bed, and then lock onto your joined hands. "heh, i see you two made up. good for you."

Red smirks, relaxing back against the headboard. "yep. so what're you doin' in here, ashtray?"

There's no real bite behind the nickname, although you feel as if Stretch and Red may have had words over Red's tantrum. Stretch shrugs, his usual lazy grin widening. "jus' wanted to see the damage of your room for myself. you really did a number on this place with your temper."

" _ha_ ," Red scoffs, tugging on your arm to pull you back against his side. You hadn't even realized that you had started to lean away from him. "bullshit. you're here to chaperone, ain't ya?"

"nah." Stretch shakes his head and begins to walk further into the room, coming around to your side of the bed. His gaze is focused on yours, but there's something unreadable in his expression. "i just thought it was about time we talked to our landlady."

You're confused. Is he mad at you? He had been so kind earlier, offering advice and not standing in your way while you cleared things up with Axe. "You just talked to me," you counter nervously.

"sure, but ya'know, hun..." He leans down, and for once, there's nothing between his teeth. He's been chain smoking ever since Blackberry and Mutt made an appearance at the lodge, so the detail jumps out at you. "you said you wanted to date around, to try out your options, right?"

Your heart jumps into your throat, a full-blown blush staining your cheeks. You manage to just barely nod. 

"so why not try them out now?"

"W-what? You mean, um..." Your eyes are huge as Stretch reaches out and threads his fingers through your hair, pushing part of it back. In your surprise, you lean backwards, but your spine hits something solid. 

Red's chest. 

The shorter skeleton still has a grip on your hand, but now that you're turned, facing Stretch, he's directly behind you. A growl rumbles through his ribs. "hey, ya bastard! can't ya see we're in the middle of a _moment_ , and you're jus' gonna barge in here an' ask her out? what the hell, dude?" 

Stretch gives him a deadpan look. "didn't i say _we_ should talk to her? you're included in those options."

That gives Red pause. Cautiously, he inquires, "so what're ya suggestin'?"

The lankier skeleton shrugs. "a trial run. she already knows what it's like to kiss axe, so why not show her what it'd be like to be with _us_?"

"What are you talking about? A trial run? Right now?" Your heart is hammering in your chest, but you're caged in between the two handsome skeletons. Red runs his thumb along the edge of your hand, while Stretch threads his phalanges through your hair. 

Were you about to get kissed by two more skeletons? After Axe's electrifying kiss, you have to admit... you're not opposed to the idea. 

But that doesn't mean you're not still nervous as hell.

_Is this really happening? Or are they just messing with me?_

"i ain't keen on sharin'," Red murmurs, and you can feel the rumble of a growl through his ribs. You find yourself pressing back against his chest without even meaning to do so.

Stretch just smirks, his gaze holding Red's. "what? afraid i'll upstage you? i didn't peg you as the kinda guy to back down from some friendly competition." 

Red bristles, and when he replies, his mouth is right beside your ear. A shiver ripples down your spine -- something that Red notices, if the fact that he squeezes your hand is any indication. His tone also has an amused lithe. "heh, that'd be a cold day 'n hell, ashtray. ok, i'll bite. i'm willin' to make an exception as long as this is a _friendly competition_." 

Stretch's grin widens. "fair enough."

Red's free arm winds around your waist, pulling your back flush with his chest, and he presses his smirk directly to your ear. "what'dya say, sweetheart? wanna take a test run and see what it'd be like to be with one of us?"

Your face feels like it's on fire, but you make no move to pull away. On the contrary, the way he's murmuring into your ear in that low voice that always holds a hint of a growl... is a huge turn-on. Especially when Stretch is also leaning over the bed, one hand bracing his weight on the mattress, and the other tangled in your hair, while he watches you with rapt interest. 

"I don't have to choose a winner or... or commit to anything, right?" You can't believe those words are coming out of your mouth, but they are, despite the fact that you're completely and utterly sober. 

You can _feel_ Red's smirk widen triumphantly, and glimpse a more-subdued version of the expression mirrored by Stretch. 

"nah, we're not looking to put any pressure on you, honey," Stretch drawls, sliding onto the edge of the mattress. Red scoots back, pulling you with him, while Stretch kneels on his knees. His hand slides from your hair, to cradle the edge of your jaw, and he leans down. His fingers gently tilt your head back, and his eyesockets become half-lidded. _How is that a thing_ \--? No. No, now's not the time to think about skeleton anatomy. 

Not yet, at least.

"we're jus' lookin' to show you a **great time** , doll. so jus' relax."

Stretch is still holding your gaze, his face so close now that you can feel his breath fan against your lips. You swallow hard past a building lump in your throat, your nerves on high-alert. You're nervous, yes, but... you trust these two completely. 

With no pressure, no commitments, you have nothing to lose by saying yes. 

"Okay," you breathe, your voice tiny over the sound of your pulse pounding in your own ears. "Okay, yeah. I'm in."

The second you verbalized your consent, whatever thin control the two had snapped. Stretch's slender fingers curl around the base of your skull, bringing your head forward at the same time his teeth crashes against your lips, and Red begins sweeping your hair away from your neck. Your initial focus is on Stretch, kneeling on the mattress between your legs, his spine bent to get the right angle to kiss you. 

With Axe, the kiss had been a surprise moment of passion -- one where you were dipped backward, clinging to his jacket in front of an audience, and left breathless. This kiss left you just as breathless, but it wasn't the same as Axe's. There isn't any desperation in Stretch's kiss; he isn't trying to convey unspoken words with his teeth. 

No, the kiss is as gentle and languid as him. The ridges around his teeth are malleable, you notice, as they shift against your lips, and you can feel a slight tingle against the smooth, dull surface of his teeth. His thumb caresses your cheek, and your free hand comes up to slide around his neck. 

Your fingernails catch the tips of the spinous processes of his vertebrae, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his teeth momentarily parting. Your eyes had slid closed, but you open them now to find him watching you, his eyelights, however, seemingly unfocused. Experimentally, you rake your nails along the edges of his neck, dipping them between each groove, only to be rewarded with a small shudder. 

And in the next moment, something slides between your lips, tangling with your tongue. It takes you a moment to realize that it's his tongue. It must be some sort of magical manifestation, you realize; it isn't wet, but it's hot and tingles in your mouth, causing you to melt against Red as Stretch takes time in his exploration. 

Suddenly, you make a sound that's somewhere between a gasp and a stuttered moan -- a sound that's muffled by Stretch's mouth. Red has pulled the collar of your shirt away from your shoulder and circled his own tongue around the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You can feel the same tingle of magic against your skin, setting your nerves alight. If you could clench your thighs, you would, but when you try, your knees just dig into Stretch's thighs. 

You can feel his grin curve against your lips, and as soon as he breaks the kiss, Red happens to carefully graze his fangs against your shoulder, causing you to gasp and arch, your hand fisting in Stretch's hood. 

"sensitive, huh?" Stretch drawls, his voice much lower than usual. 

You feel your face flush in embarrassment, even as Red continues his onslaught on your neck, swirling his tongue around and then lightly nipping. Your knees squeeze against Stretch's thighs again. "Not... not usually," you manage. Not ever, really. Intimacy had grown to be a chore when it came to your ex, but he wasn't keen on foreplay. "Your tongues tingle."

Red and Stretch share a look that you miss, and then Red releases your hand to grip the hem of your shirt. "you're wearin' too many clothes, doll. lemme help ya with that."

"So are you guys," you point out, even as you raise your arms and allow Red to divest you of your shirt. Both of them had seen you at the beach, so you don't feel self-conscious about being seen in your bra and jeans, but you _do_ want to even the playing ground. 

"you're right," Stretch responds with a nod, before leaning back just enough to yank his hoodie over his head. He dumps it in the floor, and Red tosses your shirt toward the general direction of his desk, before he shrugs off his own jacket. That leaves Stretch in a black tanktop and Red in his crimson sweater.

"You're still wearing too much," you point out to him, while he quirks a bone brow. 

"why don'tcha do somethin' about it then?" 

Taking the challenge, you shift positions and twist to face Red. He takes advantage of it to grip your hips and slide you completely onto his lap, your thighs on either side of his pelvis. 

Something hard pokes against you through his shorts. At first, you think it's just part of his pelvis, but as you pull the hem of his sweater up his ribs, you notice a dim red glow coming from his pants. 

So they _do_ have boners! You had been wondering ever since Stretch alluded to your mother that they _didn't_ when he talked to her on the phone. You hadn't been able to tell if he was joking or not, and you never knew how to bring that up into casual conversation. _Hey, how're the pancakes? By the way, you got a dong made of bone or what?_

Now that you experienced their magical tongues first-hand, a magical phallus only seems logical. 

"wanna close-up 'n personal look, sweetheart?" Red drawls, his voice low and gruff. You suddenly realize you're staring and start from your licentious thoughts, your face on fire. 

"No--I mean, yes, but I... I'm curious," you finish stammering lamely, which only draws a shit-eating grin from Red.

"i'll be more 'n happy to give ya a full demonstration."

Stretch slides his hands along your sides from behind you, feeling your soft skin. "not yet. there'll be plenty of time for that _later._ be patient."

"yeah, yeah," Red mutters, waving him off. "patient. i can do patient. i've been all kinds of patient, haven't i?"

There's a bitter undercurrent that you almost miss, but as soon as you heard it, it's gone. Red's gaze is completely focused on you, and he allows you to finish divesting him of his sweater. His entire ribcage is on full display, and in the light of his bedroom, you can clearly see his cracks and scars for the first time. His bones are riddled with them, each one having at least some sort of nick or groove. 

When your gaze flicks back to Red, you find him staring at the wall, some of the luster gone from his grin. 

... Is he self-conscious?

You can't have that; Red's _always_ confident. You place a hand on the right side of his ribs and lean down to press your lips to his sternum. His breath hitches ever so slightly, and from your new angle, you can see the red magic from within his pants casting a soft glow on his lower spine. 

You kiss up the body of his sternum, pausing only to rub the tip of your tongue along a diagonal crack, trying to show him that it doesn't matter what state his ribs are in. When you reach his clavicle, you run your teeth along it, nibbling on the bone, and his head lolls back.

" _stars._ shit." Red grips your hips, rocking you against the tent in his pants, and you grind even harder against him. When your gaze flicks up again, he's back to looking at you, his bright optics hooded and drool pooling between his fangs. 

Turning Red into putty in your hands feels amazing, and you decide that you want to discover what it would be like to kiss him, too. Two of your fingers slide beneath his collar, and you tug him forward, to crash your lips against his mouth. 

This kiss is entirely different from Stretch's _and_ Axe's. 

It isn't gentle and slow; it isn't something meant to convey claim. 

It's _hungry._

Immediately, his fangs work your lips apart and his tongue clashes with yours. His tongue is wetter than Stretch's, and it undulates skillfully within your mouth, leaving you clutching onto his ribs to stay seated upright. You feel weak, almost light-headed, lost within the desperate kiss. 

You don't even notice your bra being unhooked until the straps slide down your arms and the cups move away from your breasts. 

Still positioned behind you, Stretch slides one hand along your back, up to your shoulder to push the strap further down your arm, while his other hand snakes up from your belly until his fingertips brush the underside of your breast. 

Your breath hitches. Neither skeleton has seen _that_ much of you, but your anticipation for his touch outweighs any abashment you could possess over your modesty. You find yourself leaning back, your fingers pulling harder on Red's collar to get him to move with you, so your back touches Stretch's chest. Red groans into your mouth, his fangs poking your lips as his kiss becomes more ravenous, and he grips your ass with both hands. The back of your mind registers that Stretch seems to have ditched his tanktop; you can feel the smooth planes of his ribs press into your skin.

Meanwhile, Stretch's fingers graze the underside of your breast, occasionally skirting up toward your pebbled nipples-- but always circling away at the last moment. He's teasing you, some part of your mind realizes, but you're too absorbed in the kiss to properly recognize it. Instead, you arch your back, wiggling in an attempt to get his hands on all of your chest. He leans in, his mouth pressed to your throat, and chuckles. 

Did you have a voice kink before tonight? You sure as hell do now. 

The whine that had been building in your throat from frustration veers course into a soft, moaning gasp, and Stretch finally cups your chest, his thumb rolling a circle around your nipple. You suck on Red's tongue as you attempt to muffle the moan that threatens to rip out of you, which causes him to growl and catch your lower lip with his fang. 

The slight pain, coupled with the pleasant sensation of Stretch's fingers rolling your nipple between them -- and the fact that you're becoming so turned on that you're tempted to start dry humping Red yourself -- is incredible. You can't even focus on what you should be doing for them in this situation; instead, you're just riding the waves of sensation. 

When was the last time you felt like this? You can't even remember. Part of you wasn't even sure it was possible.

Red breaks the kiss, and your head lolls back against Stretch's shoulder, while Red lashes his tongue along the column of your throat. " _fuck_ , you're killin' me here," Red rasps, and you realize that you have a death-grip on his collar, pulling it taunt in your fist now.

"Shit, sorry," you manage, beginning to loosen your grip, when Red suddenly grips your wrist.

"pfft, don't be. i like it."

Red likes it rough; you file that information away for later. You still aren't sure what exactly gets Stretch going, but you want to get him just as riled up as Red is. Your free hand reaches back, groping for the waistband of his pants, but you miss and end up grabbing onto his lower spine. He groans, arching into your touch. You have a hand gripping both skeletons, and while one of Stretch's hands slides to the curve of your hip, one of Red's grips your other breast.

Both skeletons have a different touch. Stretch's is controlled, almost teasing with its slowness and the way he occasionally pinches the pert bud just enough to get you to arch into his touch. Red's is a rough, kneading touch, his hand encompassing your entire breast, while his thumb flicks back and forth across your nipple.

You're so turned on at this point that there's a physical _ache_ at the junction of your legs. 

Your hand shifts along Stretch's spine in an effort to reach his pelvis, and he muffles a groan by placing his mouth against your neck. You can feel his ribs expand and contract against your back, and you turn your head enough to place your lips against his skull.

"Is the spine a good spot?" you decide to vocalize. Admittedly, your knowledge of skeleton monster erogenous zones is sorely lacking, but you feel like you're starting to get the hang of it. 

"stars, yes," Stretch replies in a tight groan when you squeeze your hand around it and continue further down. The angle is a little awkward from your position, but once your wrist touches his pelvis, you circle around to the front of his pants and delve your hand within. 

It doesn't seem like Stretch was expecting you to grip his magical cock quite so soon, because the moment your hand encircles the base, his hips buck forward, and his arm jolts around your waist tight enough to pull you off Red's lap and back onto the mattress. The motion causes Red to nearly topple forward--your grip on his collar slackened--but he amends it simply by dipping his head to flick his tongue across your nipple. 

" _Ah!_ " Your moan is loud and lewd, unmuffled this time. You squeeze Stretch's cock, your hand mindlessly beginning to pump up and down along it. The magic comprising it is even more concentrated than their tongues; you can feel the tingle all the way up your arm, yet its quite the solid shape. From what you can surmise from the feel, Stretch's cock has a good bit of length, with a girth where you can just barely touch your index finger and thumb together. 

Each pump of your hand--each involuntary squeeze as Red begins his relentless ministrations, his tongue flicking the bud back and forth before circling around it--has Stretch trying to bite back a groan, his body hunched over yours. His hands finally move to your jeans, and despite his obvious distraction, he manages to deftly undo the button and zipper and slip a hand down the front. 

You can feel his finger slid along the front of your panties--and you know that even though he isn't touching you directly, he can feel how turned on you are. Your panties are _soaked_ , and the light, indirect touch, only leaves you wanting more. 

"damn, honey," Stretch murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. Mercifully, his finger pushes your panties aside, and he slips it between your slick folds and across the bundle of nerves that's been _begging_ to be touched. "you're soaked _to the bone._ " 

You can feel Red smirk at the pun from around a mouthful of your chest.

"we better get you out of these wet clothes," Stretch continues, withdrawing his hand to a whimper of protest. You had finally felt a small amount of relief, but it was short-lived. You want to feel him touch you again, to see just how skillful those slender fingers are, so you hurry to change positions as he pulls your pants down your hips. Red lifts his head to sling your bra somewhere in his room from where it had slid to one wrist, while Stretch pulls your jeans--and your panties-- down your thighs in one fluid motion. You attempt to twist around to get them off, but Stretch keeps you facing Red on your knees, while he helps pull them off your lower legs. 

"you're drippin', doll. not that i mind," Red drawls with a smirk. He's moved so his back is supported by pillows, his legs lazily parted, and that red-tinted bulge still prominently on-display. And he's right; from the way you're sitting up with your legs spread, you actually _are_ dripping onto his bedspread. 

That's new; you've never been that turned-on before.

Red reaches out and decides to feel for himself just how wet you are. His fingers easily glide to your entrance and circle around, the tips just _barely_ slipping within. It's just enough to make you feel yourself beginning to stretch, beginning to finally get some relief for that _ache_ \-- but as soon as you tilt your pelvis toward his hand, his withdraws it. 

"Come _on_." You know your face looks hurt, and his smirk turns almost apologetic--but there's something darker in his gaze, something that enjoys hearing you beg for more.

"don't worry, sweetheart. remember what ashtray said about patience." Quite deliberately, he makes a show of licking his fingers clean, sampling your taste.

On-cue, Stretch grips your waist from behind and begins to urge you forward with a hand on your back. You glance over your shoulder to see him sporting a similar tent to Red, an orange glow cast across his spine. 

"Wait, I'm naked, so you guys need to be, too," you blurt, refusing to budge. In actuality, you want to see both of their magical dicks at the same time; you don't have the patience to wait any long for that.

"'s fair," Stretch remarks, shrugging and shifting to pull his track pants down his legs. You glimpse the band of blue boxers right as he shucks both off at once, but then your attention snaps to what _really_ matters in this situation. 

The magical phallus you had felt in your hand is long and orange, with a bulbous head that's surprisingly similar to that or a human's. He grins when he finally catches your gaze after you got your fill of staring. 

"satisfied? now..." He returns to his previous goal of pushing you forward onto Red, but keeps you on your hands and knees. 

While you were distracted, Red pulled his shorts down to his ankles, and you quickly note two things:

He goes commando.

And his magical dick is _pierced._

It's as red as his namesake, perhaps not as lengthy as Stretch's, but with more girth. The underside appears to be _studded_ with gold, while the bulbous head has a bar piercing underneath. 

"How does that even work?" you have to ask, fascinated. You've never seen a pierced dick in-person before, much less felt one moving inside of you. Admittedly, you're both curious and excited at this new revelation. 

His shit-eating grin lets you know the answer before he even says it. "magic."

"Of course," you concede with a chuckle, before Stretch pulls your legs toward him, changing your position to get your ass in the air. 

"honey, if you wanna experience magic... just hold on tight."

You open your mouth to ask him just _what_ you should be holding on to, when suddenly, you feel Stretch's hot breath against your core -- followed by his tongue parting your folds. The crackle of magic against your clit is enough to have you grab onto the first thing you can -- which just so happens to be Red's pelvis.

"while you're down there..." Red trails off with a wink and a shake of his hips, and you realize that your position has put your face directly beside his pierced dick. It's not like you weren't planning on getting up-close-and-personal with it, but you had wanted to tease Red a little more first. However, with the skilled way Stretch is circling his tongue around your clit, then lapping it across your folds, you're finding it difficult to do more than just moan and clutch onto Red.

So, you concentrate and run the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft, feeling every raised stud magically embedded into it. The texture feels nice, though it doesn't have much of a taste. When your tongue reaches the head, your lips part and you take him into your mouth just in time to muffle a moan around his dick. 

The back of Red's skull hits the wall as he tilts it back and lets out a string of curses beneath his breath. Your tongue swirls around the tip, and then you take him in deeper, rubbing your tongue along his piercings on the way down, and then lightly skimming your teeth along them on the way up.

His curses become louder, more incoherent, and his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you deeper onto his shaft. You can barely process the sensation; your mind's preoccupied with what Stretch is doing-- especially when his tongue slips within your entrance, writhing within you, causing you to lewdly moan around a mouthful of Red's cock. Stretch is taking his time, drinking you in, devouring you slowly. He repeatedly brings you right to the edge and then his tongue dances away.

You lift your head, and Red's cock escapes your mouth with an audible _pop_.

" _Please._ "

On one hand, this feels amazing, and you're not ready for it to end. 

But on the other... you desperately _want_ this.

Stretch chuckles lightly at your pleading, while Red only seems more aroused. Stretch lifts his head and moves up your back, pressing skeleton kisses along your spine. "i wanna _feel_ you cum," he murmurs, and you can feel the head of his cock against your thigh, asking permission. 

You nod again, one of your hands gripping the base of Red's shaft so that you can turn around to meet Stretch's gaze. "Yes, _please_ ," you repeat, and that's enough for him. He kisses you again, gripping your chin with one hand, while he slowly presses into you from behind. Your hand tightens around Red, and he thrusts a couple of times, making your hand slide along his saliva-slicked cock. 

You're so wet that Stretch doesn't encounter much resistance. He's in deep; you can feel the ridges of his pelvis press against your ass when he bottoms out inside you. He groans your name against your lips, and thrusts once, twice, three times, before he finally breaks the kiss and buries his face against the back of your shoulder. 

You resume focusing your attention on Red's cock, taking him back in your mouth and muffling your pleasure around his girth. You remember what Stretch said about spines, so your hand fumbles forward and grips his lower back, squeezing and raking your fingernails against the sides. Red's grip tightens in your hair again, his other hand sliding lower to squeeze your breast, while Stretch's hand comes between your legs, rubbing circles around your clit.

You come undone in seconds, shuddering in Stretch's hold and collapsing forward onto Red. Your arm ends up within his ribcage, still gripping his spine, while his erection is under your chin. You're panting, riding out the waves as Stretch's movement slows, working you through your climax with shallow thrusts. Despite how wet you are, you could feel every squeeze of your inner walls around his cock, and from the way he's biting onto your shoulder, groaning with his mouth open, you know he can feel it, too. 

"Holy shit," you manage, breathless. 

Stretch chuckles. "yeah, holy shit."

"Did you...?" you begin, wondering if skeletons _can_ even climax in the same respect as humans. 

He shakes his head. "not yet."

"damn right, not yet. we're not done here. it's my turn," Red states, moving to sit up straighter and dragging you with him. Stretch is forced to prop himself back up as he slides out of you. "c'mere, sweetheart." He pulls you into his lap, but doesn't sink into you just yet. No, instead, he slides his length between your folds, the studs from the piercings rubbing against your sensitive clit and drawing another shuddering moan from you. Weakly, you grip his shoulders to stay upright; your body is still shaken from the force of your orgasm. It was definitely the best one you've ever experienced.

He's giving you time to recover, trying to be as patient as he can, and you show your appreciation by leaning in to kiss him again. His tongue swirls within your mouth, and very slowly, he positions you above the tip of his phallus and guides your hips down. You take over the pace and make sure to move as slow as possible, taking him in inch by inch, listening to his every growl and muffled curse. The piercings feel as amazing as you thought they would; they provide a texture that massages you within, and the crackle of magic brings all of your nerves alight instantly. 

Red stretches you out; the base of his girth makes you feel so completely and utterly full that you can't help but gasp. You lift up, just as slowly, taking your sweet time. "sweetheart--" The endearment is sounds strangled, and Red's jaw goes slack in a silent plea.

"Patience, right?" you murmur against his jaw, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses along it. You hover with only the tip of his phallus within you for several seconds, occasionally dipping a little lower, making him think you were going to descend, only to spring back up. 

It felt so good to be the one doing the teasing for once.

Finally, when Red takes in a breath to say something, you slam onto his hips, sheathing him within you in one fluid motion. 

" _god-- damn,_ " he rasps, squeezing your hips so hard that you know there's bound to be a bruise in the morning. You don't mind; it was well worth it to hear Red make that delightful sound.

Stretch suddenly wraps his arms around your waist again and pulls you back with him, changing your positions again. Your fingers hook into Red's collar, and you drag him along with you, angling your hips to keep him buried deep. The position change leaves you lying with your back on Stretch's chest and Red knelt between your legs. 

"didn't know you wanted to be a mattress, ya kinky bastard," Red quips, giving you two rapid thrusts that leave you sliding up and down along Stretch's ribcage. Stretch chuckles, reaching up to cup your breasts.

"actually, i thought this position would work better to _double_ the fun." You're not sure what he's talking about -- you're a little distracted by the way Red's cock seems to curve _just right_ from this position change -- until you feel the tip of his phallus prod against your ass.

Oh...

_Oh!_

"Both at once?" you blurt, a little intimated--but far from willing to turn down this opportunity. 

"if it hurts, tell me, and i'll stop," Stretch assures you gently, pinching your nipples in both hands. You feel too good right now to imagine anything feeling bad, so you nod, and he helps you adjust your hips to accommodate him. Slowly, he presses up into you. The sensation is strange, but not unwelcome; he's still drenched in your arousal, so he slides in without much resistance. You gasp. If you thought you were full before, when Red entered you, then you didn't know what full truly was. 

Once Stretch is settled, Red begins his thrusts again -- which, in turn, move you up and down along Stretch's shaft. You're overwhelmed by the feeling and pull Red on top of you by the collar. You're sandwiched between the two, trying to pull on Red's collar just right while you blindly grope for Stretch's spine, attempting to bring both of your partners as much pleasure as possible. 

"shit, _shit._ i know karma ain't real, or this wouldn't be happenin'," Red murmurs, nipping your skin wherever he can as he moves within you.

"M...Maybe you did something good in a past life," you try, barely paying attention to the words as both skeletons move within you. Stretch's hands roam your body while Red grunts with every forward thrust. You tilt your head back and try to angle your body to kiss Stretch, but the best you can manage is his chin before you give up and go back to focusing on his spine. 

You're already well on your way to another orgasm when Red changes the angle, sitting up more on his knees, and his piercing hits _just right_. You practically scream from the force; you'd been much louder than intended to that point, which only seemed to spur the guys on more. You don't care about consequences at this point-- about who might have heard -- all that matters is the waves of pleasure cascading through you, Stretch's arms wound tightly around you, and Red's fangs buried in your shoulder, cutting off his own ragged moan. 

They came with you; you can feel it trickling down. The room smells of sex, and you're breathing hard, Red collapsed on top of you and Stretch still clinging tight as your trio tries to come down from its collective sexual high. 

Suddenly, their coalesced magic dissipates, leaving you feeling empty and their bare pelvises pressing into you. You're going to be sore in the morning--hell, you're going to be sore within minutes--but you can't bring yourself to care. Not now, when you're so blissfully satisfied. 

Stretch is the first to roll Red off, and both skeletons kick the top cover into a ball to get the fluids away from them so they won't be lying on them. Red lies on his back, breathless as he stares at the ceiling with a grin, while Stretch hands you his tanktop.

"clean up, we'll wash everything in the morning."

You shrug and go along with it, using the tanktop to wipe their... excess magic?... away in lieu of actually getting out of bed. He chunks the shirt into the floor somewhere, and you settle back on the bed. You're lying on Stretch's chest, one leg over his, with your chest on his sternum. Red rolls over and spoons you from behind, while casually licking the bite mark on your shoulder. Shit, did he break the skin? Oh well, you can't bring yourself to care after they gave you two world-shattering orgasms. 

You're spent, and completely fine with just falling asleep with the two of them like this and dealing with any potential awkwardness in the morning.

Red's the first to break the silence, his arms tightening around you.

"so... i know we said we weren't gonna do winners an' shit... but i won, right?" 

Stretch scoffs, his fingers threading through your hair. "pfft, you wish. i won this one."

"Actually, guys," you interject, closing your eyes in exhausted bliss. "I'm pretty sure I'm the winner tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys don't leave me comments on this one, I'm going to be sad. You guys don't want a sad tortoise, do you?
> 
>  **Fanart:**  
>  quietsilenceus drew [Red during the initial encounter with Stretch](https://tyranttortoise.tumblr.com/post/171368099003/quietsilenceus-tyranttortoise-basically-red)  
> missalyxxxa drew [a wonderful spit-roasting scene from this that I adore](https://missalyxxxa.tumblr.com/post/171402777445/after-reading-tyranttortoises-excellent)


	15. Body Shots (Fellby/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Universe:** Underfell  
>  **Timeline:** Surface  
>  **Pairing:** Underfell Grillby / Reader  
>  **Reader type:** Has a vagina
> 
> *Written for zanyssins <3 Hope you enjoy, dear!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean it's almost been a year and this isn't finished? 8D  
> Kinktober can be every month if you wish hard enough.

“C’mon, when are you going to hire me? You know I meet every requirement you could possibly have, so why would you even bother with the Help Wanted sign?”

Grillby glanced over his wire-rim glasses as you leaned over the bar with a cocky smirk and poked a french fry at him. He’d put that sign up in the window today, when he finally decided that business was booming enough that he needed an extra set of hands. Apparently, humans enjoyed the effects of monster alcohol enough to brave sitting in a bar filled with monsters that were still adjusting to life on the Surface. 

You happened to be one of those humans. Ever since the first time you’d waltzed into his bar and requested that he _surprise you_ with a cocktail, he’d been intrigued. You were one of the very first humans brave enough to actually sit at the bar, and after a shot of liquid courage, you had managed to make friends with most of his grouchy regulars. You never shied away from trying out a new cocktail, even when the effects of the magic turned out to be a little _too strong_ and you ended up sleeping them off on his couch upstairs. 

But perhaps what he liked the most about you was the fact that you talked and joked around with him as if he was your best friend -- which, after so many weekends spent at his bar, he began to suspect was true -- and didn’t shy away from touching him. In fact, you’d rather brazenly touched his hand when he handed you another drink the first day you met, and he could still remember the grin on your face after you sighed in relief and told him with a laugh, “ _Oh, good, I was really hoping that wouldn’t burn my flesh off._ ”

You also happened to be a huge flirt after a few drinks, he’d noticed. Often, you’d stare at his violet flames, mesmerized, and inform him that he was beautiful. You’d touch his hand and dip your fingers into the sleeve of his coat with a gaze filled with heat that rivaled his body temperature. Whenever he carried you upstairs if you got a little too far-gone, you’d always stroke his cheek and run your fingers through the soft fur of his jacket while making fire-based pick-up lines that he hated from anyone but you. 

_Is it hot in here, or is it just you?_

So many times, he wanted to take advantage of your wanton behavior, to climb on top of you on that couch and really _bring the heat._ However, he managed to refrain every time. You were flirtaious when you were tipsy, yes, but it didn’t always extend just to him. You’d gotten handsy with Sans right in front of him, and there’d been a time when Drunk Bunny had kissed you that Grillby had actually burned his arm pulling him off you. The spike of jealousy wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but you seemed to know just how get beneath his metaphorical skin. 

“Well? What do you say? I mean, I’m here all the time, anyway.”

He was brought back to the present as you shifted forward again, giving him a perfect view down your shirt. Of course he wanted you around all the time, but if he outright hired you, it could be distracting. 

“....... Just because you can _drink_ cocktails all night doesn’t mean you can _make_ them,” he replied with a sharp smirk, leaning in with an arm propped on the bar to match your look. 

You bit the end of the fry you were holding and shrugged, your gaze never leaving his. “I’m a quick learner. You could teach me the recipes, and I can look up some bar tricks on YouTube.” You waved a dismissive hand, your grin teasing. “Easy peasy.”

“Uh huh...” he responded doubtfully, shaking his head. “You just want to work here to clear your tab.”

“Caught me,” you replied, spreading your hands out. Once you’d realized you could open a tab, you’d taken the path of Sans and never quite paid it off. Of course, Grillby kept adding on interest fees, couch-use fees and _because I felt like it_ fees to keep the number outrageous just to see the look on your face. “Plus, the drinks are free.”

“Almost all of your drinks are free,” he countered, quirking a fiery brow. Even when you weren’t putting drinks on your tab, other people were buying drinks for you. 

“I’m beginning to think you just don’t want me around,” you fake pouted, leaning back on the barstool. “I can always take my business to Muffet’s. Her bakery has booze, too,” you added in a sing-song voice. You knew he had a competition with Muffet, ever since they were Underground, so you were pulling out your ace in the hole. 

He rolled his eyes. “Fine... let’s see what you can do.”

You blinked. “What? Now?”

“The job interview has begun.” He smirked, motioning for you to come around the bar. You were the only two still inside; since it was a weekday, he had closed at a reasonable hour, but it had become tradition that you stayed behind while he cleaned to keep him company. More often than not, you even helped out. 

“Okay, show me what to make, and I’ll show you how quick I can learn,” you retorted, standing up from the stool. Instead of going around the bar, however, you made a beeline for the juke box while Grillby started pulling bottles from behind the bar. You got some music going to set the mood (the juke box was broken every other week from an inevitable bar fight, so you had to enjoy it while you had the chance), and then joined the flamesman. From the white-hot smirk still clear across his face, you knew he wasn’t going to make this easy for you.

“What about our signature drink? Fire and ice,” Grillby stated, which had you scoffing. You were quite familiar with the drink, but you also knew this one was impossible. “Watch closely now.”

With practiced ease, he spun a bottle with one hand, simultaneously sliding a glass across the bartop. Another glass joined the spin, and he poured both liquids into the glass, the blue one on bottom and a green liquid on top. With a snap of his fingers above the glass, a dancing purple flame lights ignited atop the green alcohol, swirling into hues of bright pink at the top. The liquor in the bottom began to form crystals.

He slid the glass toward you, and even though you tried to level him with a look, you couldn’t help but watch the dancing flames within the glass, impressed. The preparation of magical drinks was a huge draw to the human crowd, yourself included. “Show off,” you spat without any real heat, and he chuckled, his bright white optics alight with mirth.

“I’m making a point,” he replied, gesturing to the drink. You picked it up and downed it without any hesitation. You knew from experience that it would be a weird sensation; the crystals were cold and edible, while the flames were warm and tickled your throat, making you feel tingly. 

Not for the first time, you wondered what Grillby’s flames would feel like beneath your tongue. 

.... It probably explained why you ordered that cocktail so often.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, setting the empty glass back down on the bar. “I can’t use fire magic, so I can’t make that one.”

“Here I thought you said you met every requirement I could possibly have,” Grillby responded with a shrug, his white-hot smirk still clearly in place as he moved the empty glass aside. “......Pity. The help wanted sign will have to stay.”

You shake your head, stepping closer as you protest. “Hey, that’s not fair! Just because I can’t make magic drinks doesn’t mean I don’t have some killer cocktails up my sleeve.”

He snakes a finger beneath your sleeve, and you flush slightly at the feeling of the warm digit sliding across your skin, prickling goosebumps in its wake. “........I don’t see any,” he counters in that low, gruff tone that curls within your insides like smoke and makes your stomach flutter.

Reluctantly, you bat his hand away and begin pulling bottles down from the shelves. You mix a drink of your own creation with absinthe and honey whiskey, to mellow out the liquorice taste. Grillby watches you work with his arms crossed, and after you add the garnish, he takes a tentative sip.

“....... Nothing special,” he finally declares, and you bristle and attempt to snatch the glass from his hand. He simply pulls it away and then downs the rest of the cocktail in a few giant gulps. 

“Yeah, nothing special, but you liked it enough to chug it.”

“No sense wasting alcohol by throwing it out,” he insists, but you can tell from his smirk that he’s just giving you a hard time. “All right.... My turn.”

You quirk a brow; this impromptu interview is either turning into a bartender challenge or a chance for Grillby to be a show-off. When you notice what he’s gathering, you realize the latter is more plausible. 

“Oh, come _on._ ”

His smirk widens, and you hear the crackle of his laugh. “This isn’t something that’s impossible for you. All you need is practice and a lighter, and even a human can do this.” 

He passes his hand over an assortment of liquors in half of a shaker, and orange flames erupt from the top. Then, he holds the other half of the shaker up and pours the liquid into the flames with practiced ease. The stream going from one cup to the other turns a vibrant shade of blue, and proceeds to light the other cup on fire.

Grillby passes the liquid back and forth, the flames dancing and climbing between his hands. Orange flames swirl up the blue, connecting the two glasses. Somehow, the fact that his purple flames are crackling right along with the fire makes the contrast of colors even more mesmerizing. He’s right; a human could do the trick, but you don’t have those kind of skills just yet. 

Two glasses filled with ice are on the bartop, and he angles the two shakers so that the top one pours into the bottom one, which in turn pours liquid fire into the glasses. A few drops of blue flames dot the counter, but quickly burn out. When he finishes, he sets the shakers aside and passes one of the short glasses to you, and you watch the blue flames slowly extinguish. 

When your gaze lifts to his face, you can see a fiery brow quirked in challenge. Part of the draw for the bar is the fire tricks, you know.

“I can learn this, if you’re willing to stop showing off and teach me.” You sip the drink; it’s stronger than most of the cocktails on his menu, but still smooth. He downs his without preamble, and you realize that not only is he out-bartending you -- he’s drinking you under the table as well. Hurriedly, you drain your glass to keep up with him, but you’re beginning to realize just how strong his drinks are -- and just how little you’ve had to eat today. It’s loosened you up, and you’ve reached the point where you just... feel good. 

“Teach you? I thought you said that’s what Youtube is for. I don’t have time to waste training you to not catch yourself on fire.” 

“Maybe I wanna get burned,” you retort, reaching out to slide your hand along the pristine crimson tie around his neck, smoothing it down. You hear a pop of surprise from his flames, and then he chuckles again, his voice low.

“....... Careful what you wish for.”

White hot optics regard you over his wire frame glasses. You’re tipsy, he’s noticed, which makes you more flirtatious than usual. It’s in your nature, and while he wants nothing more than to lift you on top of the bar and feel your fingers roam all over his body, he manages to curb the impulse enough to simply wrap his fingers around your wrist, holding your hand against his chest.

“Okay, okay,” you blurt, suddenly mirroring his smirk as an idea strikes you. “I just have to prove I have some fun, signature cocktails of my own, right?”

Grillby nods slightly, intrigued. You’re up to something, and he knows it. “Yes.”

“No problemo, boss.” You pat his tie, and he releases your wrist. You make a big show of reaching around him to get a bottle of tequila, your body pressing against his chest. He tenses ever so slightly, and your smirk hitches up a little. 

You’ve been flirting back and forth with Grillby since you first discovered the bar. No matter how obvious your innuendos or how bold your touch has gotten in the past, he’s never made a move -- though he _has_ gotten close. You can still recall one night when he helped you stumble toward his couch. Admittedly, you had been acting more inebriated than you actually were, and when you “tripped” and pulled him down to the couch with you, your arms wound around his neck, he stared into your eyes with a level of _heat_ you’d never witnessed. 

You had assumed that he would finally kiss you -- his mouth was so close that all it would’ve taken was a simple tilt of your chin to close the distance -- but instead he shoved your shoulders down into the cushions and disappeared into his bedroom for the night.

It had been a disappointing end, certainly, but it still held the promise of interest. 

And you had just the right amount of liquid courage in your system to push your luck again.

You clear off the bar, snatch a lime slice from a metal container, and pull the salt next to the tequila. “I’m going to show you a human trick, Grillby,” you inform him with a smirk. Your face is flushed at the thought of doing this ( _what if this blows up in your face?_ ), but you beat down that nagging thought with a quick shot of tequila for luck. It’s smooth, but you still make a face while you’re turned away from him. 

“What trick is that? Drinking the merchandise?” 

“Well, I mean, free booze is just a perk of the job,” you tease, shrugging. He scoffs, but before he can retort, you hop up onto the edge of the bar. The room tilts slightly -- you’ve got a rather pleasant buzz going that’s smashed through your inhibitions enough that you don’t even hesitate when you grab the hem of your dress, yank it out from under your hips, and then pull it over your head. 

Grillby’s usual smirk is completely gone, morphed into shock as you slowly deliberately drop your dress onto the floor. You’re left sitting on the counter in front of him, rather brazenly clad in only your underwear and sandals. His white hot pupils are appraising you, even as his mouth begins to crack open to speak. 

“Wait, I’m not done,” you cut in, unwilling to let him shake your confidence by questioning your actions. You swing your legs out in front of you on the bar, sprinkle a line of salt on your thigh, pour a bit of tequila in your belly button, and then pick up a lime slice and glance over at him.

The shock’s gone from his face, and his pupils are hidden behind his glasses again. You can’t read his expression, but it seems carefully neutral. 

Your heart is pounding. 

“You know about body shots, right? It’s like a tequila shot. Lick, the salt, drink the tequila, then bite into the lime. If you use your hands, you lose.”

You stick the lime slice in your mouth, the rind captured lightly between your teeth. Grillby arches a a fiery brow, and you arch one in reply -- in _challenge_. 

He steps closer to the bar, and your gaze flicks to the ceiling, your heart hammering harder in your chest. Warmth suddenly blooms against your thigh as he grips right above your knee. 

He’s either going to do it, or he’s going to shove you off the bar. 

Suddenly, you feel the warmth grow closer, and something even hotter touches your inner thigh. It’s a dry heat, undulating with small flames, and you belatedly realize that he’s licking the salt from your leg. You suck in a deep, sharp breath as the heat inches upward, your opposite leg unconsciously shifting to open your legs wider. He lingers for a moment, so close to the apex of your thighs -- you can feel the heat from his face, radiating off him in waves -- but then, he abruptly pulls away.

You barely have time to bite back a whine (you’re _this_ turned on, and the body shot’s barely even begun!) before he moves up and sweeps his tongue inside your navel to take the shot. It makes your stomach flutter, and your hips jerk when he settles a firm hand on the side of one, holding you firmly in place against the bar. 

Grillby lifts his head and meets your gaze from beneath his wire-frame spectacles, and you distantly realize that his flames appear different from usual. They’re brighter, the tips a bright white that matches the predatory smirk plastered across his features, while his cheeks are flushed a roiling, bright blue. 

Leaning down excruciatingly slow, he holds your gaze until the last second -- when his mouth crashes against yours. You feel lime juice dribble down your chin as he bites into it, but you’re too focused on the feeling of his lips -- or at least the fire elemental equivalent -- solidly pressed against yours. The heat doesn’t burn, and he lingers for several moments longer than the body shot requires, while you find yourself desperate to spit out the lime rind and kiss him in earnest. 

Before you can do just that, however, he pulls completely away, his arms crossing. His index finger taps his chin thoughtfully, and if it wasn’t for the change in his coloring, you’d think he was actually uneffected. His flames crackle in a ruminating sound as he pretends to mull this over.

“.... something just doesn’t feel _right_. It’s lacking something,” he remarks, his low voice distorted by the crackling pop of his flames even more-so than usual.

He regrets his quip the moment your expression falters, and hastily moves to amend it. “I’ve got just the thing.” 

In truth, you had caught him completely by surprise the moment you disrobed right there on the bar. He had often fantasized about what your body would look like beneath your clothing, so he had taken the time to memorize your every curve, to map out whatever moles and freckles he could glimpse as you laid back. 

Grillby wanted nothing more than to climb on top of you right then and there and take you on the bar. He wanted to mark you, to make sure that no one would ever question you belonged with _him_ , not the slovenly assholes that tried night after night to bed you. 

But that would be too quick. No, he wanted to savor this moment, to make sure you wanted him with the same desperation he wanted you. 

And then, when he licked the salt from your thigh, he discovered from your scent alone (okay, and maybe the damp spot on your panties, too) that you _did_. 

You’re giving him a quizzical look, your eyes glazed over in a lustful daze. He reset the body shot, taking his time setting the salt in a perfect line, then topping off your bellybutton with the tequila. When he reached the part with the lime, however, he paused, a finger tracing your sternum, down your cleavage to the center of your bra. 

You know from experience that Grillby always exhibits excellent control over his own body temperature. You’ve seen him sear through people’s shirts before when he clasped a hand on their shoulder, yet each time you’ve touched his hand, it’s been a pleasant, radiating warmth.

This touch is much hotter, and he hooks his index finger beneath the middle of your bra, tugs it away from your body --

\-- and burns it in a flash. 

The cups of your bra fall open, completely exposing your breasts. As soon as they’re bared, you jerk, fighting the impulse to cover yourself up. The way Grillby’s looking at you erases all of your self-conscious doubts, however; you can tell he’s enjoying the view.

But that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he just destroyed your most comfortable bra. 

“..... here.”

Grillby carefully places a lime slice over each of your pebbled nipples, and you suck in a sharp breath at the contrasting cold of the lime and heat of his fingertips. His smirk widens, and he adds another line of salt directly between your breasts. 

“There... This is much better.” His voice comes out as more of a distorted growl, and he’s glowing even brighter than before. 

“Okay. Okay, round two, let’s go,” you reply, your voice wavering with a mix of anticipation, nerves, and _lust_.

“...... so impatient,” Grillby taunts, running a finger along your opposite thigh. Your hips jerk on their own accord, and his grin fills with prideful mirth. 

“I’m just getting cold,” you lie, trying to keep still so the lime slices won’t fall off. 

“I can help you with that.”

Grillby leans down and drags his tongue up the salt line on your leg, and you quietly gasp at the sensation. The heat grows closer to your crotch, but you expect him to skip over it in favor of taking the shot. 

Instead, he licks over the damp spot on your panties, one of his hands cradling the crest of your hip to keep it from bucking off the bar, while your gasp turns into a moan. His flames crackle louder in the semblance of a satisfied murmur, but Grillby’s tongue continues north, stopping to sweep the alcohol from your navel. The small, writhing tendrils of flame on his dry tongue have set all of your nerves alight, making you hyper-aware of his every move. He moves up again, following the salt line he added until his mouth’s between your breasts his body leaned over yours. You can feel the brush of his jacket against your skin, the fur tickling the underside of your chest, and you reach up, balling your fingers into that fur to ground yourself. 

This is really happening. This is finally happening.

White hot orbs regard you from over his stylish glasses, and he quite deliberately moves to one breast, tips the lime slice up with his tongue, and then captures both it and your nipple in his mouth. 

The hot and cold contrast from before has nothing on _this._ A stuttering moan escapes you, and you grasp onto his jacket tighter, your back arching with the sensation of his tongue. The other lime slice bounces onto the bar, but you don’t care; you’re done with the body shots. You don’t want him to ever stop. His sharp teeth graze the sensitive bud, and one of your hands goes for the back of his head, your fingers threading through the wisps of flame. 

“Grillby, a-ahh.... _fuck_.”

His reply sounds like a crackling growl that vibrates through your breast and straight to your core. You’re laid out on display on the bar, you realize, yet he’s still fully dressed. Deciding to rectify it, you begin blindly tearing at his clothes, trying to pull his jacket off his shoulders. 

He doesn’t help you; instead, he knocks away the lime and switches breasts. You become distracted by the pleasure, unable to concentration on how to undress him. One of your fingers finds his tie, and after several pauses, you manage to work it within the knot to loosen it. 

“C-c’mon, Grillbz... I.... I wanna feel you,” you whimper. Your plea seems to actually do the trick, however, because in the next moment, he’s pulled you up with a hand supported beneath your back -- and then his lips crash into yours. 

Without the lime slice as a buffer, his tongue invades your mouth, and the dry contrast feels different from any kiss you’ve ever received. His tongue dominates yours, undulating in your mouth, the tiny flames encircling your tongue. The sensation’s almost too much; it steals away your breath, makes it difficult to breathe. You can feel the tingle of magic, pleasantly numbing the heat of his mouth, and you suck on his tongue and scrape your teeth along it, trying to rile him up as much as he’s turned you on. 

Finally, he pulls back to allow you to breathe again, your face flushed with the sheer rising heat of his body. His mouth drops to your shoulder, tongue swirling at the juncture of it and your neck, while he proceeds to shuck off his fur-lined coat. It hits the floor in a rare slovenly display (Grillby’s coat is always meticulous, and the one time a patron spilled a drink on it, he charged them a 250G cleaning fee), and the tie follows it shortly after. He nips your neck, then pulls away to undo the buttons of his dress shirt with surprising swiftness. Meanwhile, you slip your arms from your bra straps and similarly discard it. 

Once he’s clad in only his dress slacks and shoes, he scoops you off the bar. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands grip his shoulders, while he holds onto your ass. He kisses you again, and you moan into his mouth while he navigates the bar to slam your back against a wall for leverage. 

He’s got you pinned, and you can feel a rather sizable erection poking your thigh, so you squeeze your legs around him and grind against it. He groans low into the kiss, and moves a hand to shove your panties aside. His finger slides through your slick slit, drawing an even louder moan from you, before he abruptly slips one inside. 

You’re so wet that you’re surprised it didn’t sizzle. 

He slips in another, testing your stretch, while his thumb circles around your clit. He breaks the kiss to nip at your clavicle, and you tilt your head back against the wall. 

“Grillby. Oh god, Grillby.”

His name comes out as a moaning mantra, and your fingers dig into his shoulders. Even though his body is comprised of fire, he still has a firm body beneath the flames -- and clear muscular definition, you’ve discovered. You explore the planes of his body, fingernails digging in whenever he hits just the right spot. 

He bites down harder on your shoulder, and the bit of pain only heightens the pleasure. You gasp; he’s already sending you toward the edge, but you want even more of him. Reaching down, you try to maneuver so you can touch his tented slacks, but you can’t quite reach.

“Grillby,” you whine. His mouth moves to your throat, and his fingers still within you, though his thumb keeps flicking over your clit. 

“..... what do you want?”

“You _know_ what I want,” you protest, pointedly shimmying your hips against his hand. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” His voice is more hoarse than usual, more distorted by crackles.

“ _You._ I want you.” Two can play at this game. “Grillby, do you want me?” 

“You have....... no idea how much I want you,” he growls, his hand suddenly slipping from beneath your panties, its absence leaving a nigh palpable ache. He undoes his pants, his full erection already protruding from his the slit in his boxers. You glance down at it as Grillby works to literally burn your panties off, taking care not to singe your skin as he sears through the sides of them to peel them away. 

Much like the rest of his body, his cock is made of fire. The color gets brighter as it gets further away from his body; wisps of indigo flames leave it ribbed, with tendrils of bright blue curling from the bulbous head. 

“Do you cum fire?” you’re unable to censor yourself, but you feel like you should know what you’re getting into. Grillby’s caught off-guard, but he chuckles, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Essentially. Don’t worry, it won’t burn.”

You trust him, so you nod and shift your hips, trying to line your entrance up with the tip of his fire dick. However, he holds your hips in place, keeping them pinned down against the wall. 

“I.... want to make a few things clear first.”

Dammit. He’s about to ruin the mood, you realize, feeling your heart swan dive into your stomach. He’s bound to inform you that this is a one-time deal, that you can never speak of it again -- or maybe even the opposite! What if he has a human fetish, and he’s going to inform you that you can be his new plaything, but nothing more?

This doesn’t have to mean anything. It can just be sex, you tell yourself, even as you swallow hard past the building lump in your throat. 

“Lay it on me,” you whisper.

Grillby grasps your chin suddenly, drawing your gaze back to his serious expression. “You’re _mine._ ”

That... wasn’t what you were expecting to hear.

“After this.... I don’t want you trying to sleep with anyone else.”

“Are you asking me out?” you blurt. “Like, exclusively, right? Monogamy clause? You’re not going to try to sleep with anyone else, either?”

“Why would I when I have you?” he returns, his usual white-hot smirk reappearing with confidence. “.......I’d be yours, too.” 

You mirror his grin, arms twining around his neck. “Okay. I’m all yours.” Your legs squeeze his hips suddenly, drawing him forward until the tip of his dick slips inside you a fraction. “Now _fuck me._ ”

In a flash, Grillby relents and slams into you with a single thrust, filling you up. You’re so wet that he slides in with ease, stretching you out. A loud, surprised moan rips past your throat, and he starts up a grueling rhythm that has you clinging to him, your back bouncing up off the wall. 

His shaft has set all of your nerves on fire; you can feel every inch of him perfectly, and the undulating tendrils reach even further than his cock, wisping upward to caress your G-spot. The magic within him makes your body tingle.

Your moans are muffled by another fierce kiss, one that mimics the pace he’s set with your lower halves. “ _Mine,_ ” he murmurs into your mouth, the deep, possessive tone stoking the flames within you. Your body is responding perfectly to his, and either the waves of pleasure or the heat is making you feel light-headed. His mouth moves down from your mouth to catch your nipple between his teeth, and you cry out his name. 

You’re so close -- it’s all too much -- you’re so hot --

And then you’re pushed over the edge when he thrusts in fully and grinds his hips into yours. You climax, gasping incoherently and clinging to his back. He picks up the pace again, spurred on by the way your inner walls are spasming around his cock, and crackles loudly as he cums. 

You’re still riding the orasgmic high when you feel the white hot liquid fill you up, but like Grillby said, it doesn’t burn. 

On the other hand, his fingers are doing just that.

It takes you a moment of coming down to realize he’s now rubbing the heel of his hand soothingly over several finger marks on your hips that he left in the throes of passion. The tingle of magic takes away any of the pain, and after that performance, you’re not even mad he left marks on you. It’s probably just the fire elemental equivalent of hickeys. 

Slowly, Grillby sinks down onto a nearby bar stool, you still in his lap and him still sheathed within you. You’re both struggling to catch your breath, so he leans over the bar and grabs a bottle of mountain spring water. 

“.......here. You’re dehydrated.”

“Thanks.” You have to remind yourself to slow down once you take a long swig of the water; you didn’t realize how much you needed it until just now. Grillby’s leaned against the bar, looking handsomely disheveled, as he continues to absently rub your hip. “So... did I get the job?”

He smirks. “I was going to hire you from the start.”

“Seriously?” You swat his shoulder. 

He nods, capturing your wrist and leaning forward to nuzzle his face into the side of your neck. You smell amazing; his scent’s all over you. “There is a catch though.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you tease, grinning.

“You can’t make your signature body shot cocktail for anyone but me.”

“Aw, but here I was going to let Sans try it next.”

Grillby gives you a flat stare, and you grin, kissing his jaw. “Kidding. I’m all yours, remember?”

After you rehydrate, Grillby helps you perfect your body shot. 

The next day, the bar opens late for the first time ever. For once, Grillby just didn’t want to get out of bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you read? Find more skelebae content [ in my tumblr!](https://tyranttortoise.tumblr.com/)


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